#{{ Yeah. Okay. Whatever: Answered Memes }}

[kjhbsies]

Baked With Love

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Smallville Clark Kent x popular reader

synopsis: Y/N was the popular girl who wore her heart on her sleeve—for him. But Clark, caught between fear and pride, kept pushing her away… until her absence finally made him realize what he had lost.

wordcount: 3,505

note: 16+ angst to fluff

For most of his college life, Clark Kent had genuinely no idea why you liked him so much. It all began on a very unfortunate afternoon when Lex Luthor introduced you two. Lex had said...

"Clark, this is Y/n. She's a family friend from the city. Be nice."

You were effortlessly intimidating— born in a silverspoon, a wardrobe that looked like it walked straight out of a fashion magazine cover, and a confidence that Clark couldn't even fathom. You were loud, bold, smart-mouthed, and just happened to be jaw-droppingly pretty. Clark tried not to think about it, but he failed miserably.

Clark didn't feel uneasy with you, per se. But you weren't exactly his to pick for "people I'd like to be trapped in a room with." Not because you were mean. No, you were actually weirdly nice. You just had this energy. An unshakable presence that made Clark, the most powerful being on Earth, feel like an awkward schoolboy with sweaty palms.

One day, you popped in the barn, saying something about "needing fresh country air." Then the next week, you were lounging in his loft like you owned it, flipping through one of his books like you weren't just sitting in the sacred space of solitude he thought only he and Lana would occupy. Then there was the time you baked cookies and just showed up at the Kent kitchen, and Clark genuinely thought Martha had invited you. She didn't.

It was like you were on a personal mission to infiltrate every square inch of his life— and you were doing it so casually that no one really questioned it. Not even Clark.

Until Pete started teasing.

"Hey, look. Your girlfriend's here."

Clark would turn with a flush in his ears. "She's not my—"

But Pete was already laughing.

Even Chloe had chimed in. "You know, Y/n's got her sights on you, right? Like a missle. Might as well surrender."

Clark had no response to that. Mainly because he had just run into you in the hallway and accidentally inhaled whatever perfume you were wearing, which now lived permanently in his brain.

You'd greet him like it was the most natural thing in the world— "Hey, Clarkie." With that little smug grin like you knew you made him nervous. And maybe you did. Okay. Fine. You definitely did.

But to be honest, Clark didn't find any of it funny anymore.

Sure, despite being one of the popular girls on campus, you never acted like it. You were popular, yeah, but not in the usual sense— people gravitated towards you because you had personality. You were brilliant in class, always raising your hand with the kind of answers that made instructors nod like proud parents. You were involved in different university organizations, and somehow, you still made the President's List every semester like it was no big deal.

Basically, you were the kind of girl that many people admire. And yet, somehow, you had decided to direct that same energy to Clark. And it wasn't subtle, either.

You brought him snacks. You had saved him a seat in the library. You texted him stupid memes at night. You even helped him with his Physics project once— and looked good doing it, too, in that annoyingly cute shirt and eyeglasses.

But Clark had brushed it all off. It's not like he didn't find you attractive. He did. Painfully so.

You were a lightning in a bottle— vibrant, driven, and bold. And he was just... Clark. The farm boy with secrets a size of a planet, who spent most of his nights chasing off meteoric weirdos and hiding his abilities from half the people in this town.

You deserved someone normal. Someone who wasn't still half-tangled in the heartbreak that was Lana Lang.

You arrived at the Kent farm with a basket in hand, your smile as sweet as the scent of the freshly baked pastries you brought.

"Oh, Y/n. You always bring something so delightful." Martha beamed, ushering you in.

Clark, leaning against the barn wall, tried not to stare. You were just... too much. Too pretty, too kind, too good to be real. His mom always looked at you with sparkling eyes, and Jonathan always seemed to feel the same way.

When the two of you were finally alone, you turned to him, hopeful.

"So... you free this Saturday?" You asked casually, hopping to sit on a slab of wood. "It's my birthday. Lex is hosting something in his house. Nothing too crazy, just a small thing. A few people, food, music. Chloe and Pete are also invited. I was hoping you could come?"

Clark looked up from the hay he was pretending to be interested in. Your eyes were soft, curious, and earnest. He hated it.

"I... uh, I might be busy. Football stuff. The season's picking up, and my parents are going to be out of town this weekend. I'll probably be covering some chores."

You blinked once and then smiled faintly.

"Oh..." You said, trying to hide your disappointment. "Well, it's open if you change your mind."

You left him a cupcake on the table. Vanilla with pink frosting and sprinkles. He didn't eat it.

And Saturday came fast.

You woke up with butterflies in your stomach. Your room was filled with balloons Lex insisted having delivered, despite your protests. "It's your birthday, Y/n. Let people celebrate you for once." He argued.

You liked Clark. A lot. It wasn't some game. Not some challenge your friends had dared you to do. You weren't being ironic. Your feelings were real— surprisingly real— and Lex had raised an eyebrow once, muttering something like, "Well, that was unexpected."

But he didn't understand. Clark was real in ways no one else around you ever was. He didn't care about money or popularity or image. He was awkward and shy, yet grounded. And you loved that about him.

So you got ready. You wore your favorite dress. You styled your hair. You told yourself he'd show up. He had to.

By 8:00 PM, the living room was warm and full of laughter. Music played softly in the background. Your friends chattered around the dinner table, passing drinks and stories.

"Clark's coming?" Lex asked you as he handed you a drink.

You shrugged, smiling tightly. "I hope so."

Chloe had shown up with a gift and a knowing smile. "Clark and Pete didn't say anything to me. But maybe they're just late."

You nodded. But the hours passed.

9.00. No Clark.

10:00. Still nothing.

By 10:30, your phone screen was painfully blank, and your stomach had started twisting into knots.

By 11:00, the guests started filtering out. Some hugged you and wished "happy birthday" with laughter and light hearts. But all you could feel was this hollow building up in your chest. He wasn't coming; he never was.

"Come on," Lex said gently, wrapping a gentle arm around your shoulders. "Let's go back inside. Stop waiting for someone who won't show."

Unbeknowst to you, Clark was not at home. Wasn't working on some chores. He was at a party across the town. A big one— loud music, red solo cups, beer pongs, too many football jerseys, and girls hanging around. Pete and Clark had been invited there, and both of them reluctantly showed up.

Clark drank a lot. Way more than he should've. But not enough to get drunk (he couldn't, anyway), but just enough to blur the guilt.

The sun hadn't even reached its peak yet when you arrived at the Kent farm, your hands cradling a tray of leftover cake—chocolate hazelnut with buttercream, the one you baked yourself because it reminded you the first time Clark ever complimented something you made. You told yourself it wasn't a big deal. Just a small peace offering. Just a way to see him.

Maybe, you thought, he regretted not showing up. Maybe you could laugh it off, hand him a slice, tell him he owed you one, and pretend like the silence between you hadn't cut through your chest the night before.

But as you reached a gravel path leading to their porch, your steps faltered. An unfamiliar girl emerged from the front door. Probably your age. Wearing one of Clark's flannel shirts, barely buttoned. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick smudged, like she had just woken up.

You took a step backwards, hiding from their line of sight.

And then came Clark. Topless. Barefoot. Looking like a tragic painting of betrayal in broad daylight, sunlight washing over his body like it was trying to make him look holy. But there was nothing sacred about the red kiss marks littering his neck or the one at the corner of his mouth.

The girl turned, smiling up at him before heading to her car. And before she got in, she tiptoed and planted a soft, small kiss on his cheek.

He smiled back. Not awkwardly. Not nervously. Like it was easy.

You quickly backed away, ducking behind the side of the barn as Clark went back inside his house. The pain burned inside of you. It was sickening and humiliating.

God, you thought, I wore my favorite dress last night just for him.

Without a second thought, you immediately found the nearest trash bin and shoved the cake in with trembling fingers. You walked away without looking back.

"Why didn't you show up at Y/n's birthday party?" Chloe asked sharply, catching Clark mid-page of the local meteor-rock incident report. Pete, just beside him, visibly flinched and gave him a look.

Clark blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Chloe leaned across the table, arms crossed. "She was excited to see you, you know? Lex threw the thing in his house. It wasn't exactly as small as one would expect. So where were you?"

Pete tried to focus on his apple juice.

"I... we were busy. Football thing. Plus, I didn't think it was a big deal. I mean, she was always around, right? I figure she'd understand."

"Always around?"

Clark sighed. "She's just... always there, alright? Popping out of corners. Bringing pastries at 7 AM. Sitting in my loft like she owns it It's annoying. She's always tailing me, and I never asked her to."

Silence.

Even Pete stopped sipping on his juice.

And behind the bookshelves, hidden just out of sight, Y/n froze.

You had only come in to return Chloe's notes in your shared Philosophy class. You weren't even going to say hi. You were keeping your distance— just like you promised yourself.

"She's not so bad like you made it seem, Clark." You heard Chloe.

"I just want some peace," Clark muttered, clearly annoyed.

"You can't run away from her forever."

"I'd be glad to try."

But Clark didn't have to because that same week, you became an enigma after that. He didn't even have to dodge around the barn. Didn't have to wake up seeing your face first in the morning. You weren't popping in with muffins or sticking heart-shaped post-it notes around his loft window. You weren't waving at him in the hallways. You were just gone.

His brows furrowed every time he walked past your locker and found it unopened. He found himself always glancing at the entrance of their barn more than once, hoping you'd finally show up one morning. At the farmer's market, he wandered longer than necessary at the baking aisle booth, wondering if you'd suddenly walk by.

You didn't.

Jonathan asked him to take out the trash. And Clark, half annoyed, half distracted, grabbed the bin from the porch and stomped towards the compost. But when he opened the lid, he saw a cake box. Pink polka dots, cute bow— the one you always used.

His stomach dropped.

What's it doing in here?

Clark's grip on the edge of the box tightened. Guilt rolling in immediately.

You weren't annoying. You were just kind. Consistent. Loud in a good way. You liked him, and he treated it like a problem. And now, he realized what kind of an asshole he was.

He had to apologize. But he didn't know where to start. Finding you was not an easy task, either. He wandered through the halls, eyes scanning every classroom, but you weren't there. He went to the farmer's market three mornings in a row— hoping— praying— you'd be there. But you weren't.

He had gone two full weeks without a glimpse of you. He hated to admit how often he found himself pausing during the day, waiting. Hoping.

So when Lex rolled into their farm one day in one of his new ridiculously expensive cars, Clark barely noticed. He was too busy dragging the hay until he heard Lex's voice.

"Clark," Lex said, grinning. "Hope I'm not interrupting you."

And then Clark saw you.

You stepped out of the passenger seat, wearing jeans and a simple cropped tee, hair styled neatly. No designer boots. No bold lipstick. But Clark swore his lungs forgot to work.

You offered him a polite nod. "Hey, Clark."

And that was it.

Lex greeted the Kents, asking for a quick word inside. And then, it was just the two of you, sitting in silence, like strangers.

You took a seat on one of the old wooden benches, thumbing through your phone. Clark awkwardly stood by the wooden door for a few seconds, pretending to dust his hands, eyes flicking towards you every five seconds.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Lex got a new car."

You didn't look up. "Yeah, Lamborghini. He won't stop talking about it."

Clark scratched the back of his neck. "It's... nice."

"Yeah."

Silence again.

"Look, I— I'm sorry about your birthday. Me and Pete... we couldn't come."

You finally glanced up. "It's okay; you were busy."

Clark nodded, unable to say something else, especially now that you seemed uninterested in what he was going to say.

Earlier that week, he had stormed inside the Torch like a man possessed. Chloe looked up from her computer with an annoyed glare.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" She snapped, clicking through the keyboard.

Clark ran a frustrated hand along his hair. "I need a bit of advice. About Y/n."

Chloe didn't even look up. "Wow. That only took, what, half the semester? You realize she's been MIA, right? Like, completely ghosted. And now you want to talk?"

Clark sighed. "Chloe, please."

She glanced up, her eyebrows shooting up when she heard how desperate and wrecked he was.

"She won't even look at me now. She used to be everywhere, and now it's like she never existed. And— I— I don't know."

"You miss her."

"I do," He admitted. "I didn't think I would, but I do. It's like— I keep looking for her. Like she's supposed to be there, and when she's not—God, Chloe. It was driving me nuts."

And then she'd told him to just talk to you. Simple. Direct. No weird detours.

So when Lex called about the delivery that Thursday, Clark had thought maybe this is it. Maybe this was the moment the universe was finally giving him another shot. He had practiced a dozen versions of the same line in his head.

But when you descended the stairs in that usual, effortless way, bored eyes locked into the screen of your phone, he realized immediately— something had changed.

"Lex isn't here." You said, eyes darting at the box he was carrying. "You can leave it in the kitchen."

"I know," He replied, a little breathless. "I was hoping you'd be home."

You paused. "Really?"

Clark nodded, setting down the box of fruits and vegetables. "Been doing alright?"

You shrugged. "Same old. You?"

"Maybe." He shifted nervously. "I— I'm free this Saturday. If you wanted to— I dunno, go by the lake with us. Just hanging out."

You looked at him. "You don't have to pretend, you know?"

Clark blinked. "Pretend? I— I wasn't—"

"It's fine, Clark. If you don't like me, you could just say it to my face. I'm a smart girl, Clark. I'll understand whatever reason you have."

"But I don't—" He tried to move forward, to explain, but you were already walking away from him.

Down Main Street, past the closed café and the silent bookstore, hands in his jacket pockets, brows furrowed so deeply, Clark found himself walking in the streets of Smallville. His boots scuffed against the pavement with every distracted step, and his mind was loud— too loud.

He was driving himself mad.

So when Lex pulled up next to him in his Lamborghini, rolling down the window and watching Clark with one raised brow, it was hard to look anywhere but embarrassed.

“Late night for a stroll,” Lex said casually, but his eyes were sharp. Observing. “Don’t tell me the world’s strongest farm boy is out here moping.”

Clark gave him a dry look but didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.

Lex tilted his head. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like it,” Clark muttered.

Lex leaned his elbow on the edge of his window. “This about Y/N?”

Clark stopped walking.

Lex gave a small, knowing smile. “Figured.” There was silence for a beat, and then Lex said, almost thoughtfully, “You know… You really got the wrong idea about her.”

"Clark looked down. "Oh, yeah?"

Lex looked away briefly before adding, “Did you know that she waited by the door longer than she’d ever admit on her birthday? Kept peeking at the window, fixing her dress— her favorite one. And then, when you didn't show up, I know that broke her heart.”

Clark swallowed hard. "I..." He shook his head, trying so hard to convey coherent words but failing to do so.

“Don’t screw this up, Kent,” Lex said more gently now. “You think you’re the only one scared? That girl was brave enough to love you in front of everyone. Maybe it’s your turn.”

Clark didn’t speak. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his truck keys, and offered them to Lex.

Lex raised a brow. “What’s this?”

“I need your car,” Clark said, almost urgently.

Lex blinked. “You’re not going to wreck it, are you?”

“No promises,” Clark replied, already moving.

Lex rolled his eyes, but tossed him the keys anyway. “She’s at my house. Kitchen. Baking. Don’t ask what time it is.”

Clark was already gone before the sentence ended, a streak of blur and hope trailing behind him.

You were baking again.

It was your comfort. Your reset button. The world could fall apart but give you flour, eggs, and your favorite playlist and you could pretend everything was fine for a few hours.

You didn’t expect to hear tires screech in Lex’s driveway. Didn’t expect heavy, rushed footsteps across the porch. Didn’t expect the door to swing open like something out of a dramatic rom-com.

Clark Kent stood there, breathless.

Hair wind-swept. Cheeks flushed. Eyes wild with emotion. He looked like he’d run across all of Smallville just to get here. He had.

“Y/N..."

You blinked at him, surprised, a spoon still in your hand. “Clark?”

“I— I need to talk to you,” he said, stepping inside before you could shut him out. “Please. Just hear me out. I won’t screw it up this time.”

“Clark, I’m kind of—busy—”

“Please.”

You froze.

“I was stupid, okay?” He said. “I was scared. You’re… everything. You’re so vibrant and loud and brilliant, and I thought I wasn’t enough for that. I thought I couldn’t keep up with someone like you. But I was wrong. You make me better.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Clark beat you to it again.

“I like you,” He breathed. “I really like you. And I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t. I don’t want to keep lying to myself that losing you is somehow better than facing how much I care.”

You stared at him, heart thudding. “Clark…”

He looked desperate. “Please say something.”

“I liked you first. But that doesn’t mean I want to be someone you settle for. I don’t want to be some spontaneous decision because you’re lonely.”

Clark shook his head, stepping closer. “You’re not. You’re not a decision. You’re the only thing I’m sure of right now.”

There was still doubt in your eyes. Still guardedness.

So Clark did the only thing he could think of to prove he meant every word.

He kissed you.

Gently at first— carefully, like you were made of glass. But then you responded, melting into it with a small sigh, hands finding his chest, and it deepened— slow and sweet and real.

When you finally pulled away, slightly breathless and a little dazed, he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re it for me,” He whispered. “I didn’t see it before. But I do now.”

You smiled, just a little. “You’re gonna owe me, Clarkie.”

“I’ll bake,” He offered.

You laughed. “You can’t even toast a bread.”

He grinned, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Then I’ll learn.”

©kjhbsies

[jungwnies]

f1 rookies | finals season

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, isack hadjar, jack doohan, gabriel bortoleto, and liam lawson ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : the 2025 f1 rookies try to help their high school senior girlfriends with essays in subjects they’re terrible at...except for one smarty-pants.

୨ৎ : genre : comedy & fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 2061

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : no race this weekend ... unfortunate.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you sighed dramatically, forehead pressed against the cool surface of your desk, your statistics textbook open to a page that looked more like ancient runes than math.

kimi peeked into your room, hair still damp from his post-training shower. “you okay?”

“no,” you groaned. “i have to write a proof essay for stats and i don't even know what the question is asking. like. what even is a chi-square test? is it edible?”

kimi padded over, curious despite the visible fear creeping into his eyes the closer he got to the math. “show me.”

you pushed the textbook toward him like it was radioactive.

he sat beside you, peering at the assignment sheet, lips moving silently as he tried to read it.

“…it’s just numbers,” he said finally, like he was offering wisdom from the gods.

“not just numbers!” you cried. “it’s probabilities. it's… math with extra steps and suffering.”

he frowned, tilting his head. “okay. maybe… we do it like a race.”

you blinked. “a race?”

he nodded, warming up to the idea. “look — the data points are like racers. the chi-square thingy tells you if they finished where they were supposed to finish or if something weird happened. like… if max verstappen somehow finished last.”

you stared at him.

“that’s actually—” you blinked. “that’s… kind of good.”

kimi perked up immediately, straightening in his chair. “yeah?”

“yeah! like expected vs. observed outcomes.”

he grinned, proud like he just set a world record. “see? i’m a genius.”

you giggled, reaching out to ruffle his damp curls. “you’re a genius and my emotional support calculator.”

he flushed slightly, smiling as he leaned over your notes. “okay, now write that down. but make it sound smarter.”

together, you cobbled together a rough outline — him offering racing analogies every five minutes, you translating them into statistics lingo — and slowly, your essay started to take shape.

by the end of the night, you were half asleep on his shoulder, your laptop still open, and kimi was scrolling through chi-square memes on his phone like he was actually invested.

“next time,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead, “pick an easier subject. like, uh… tire pressure.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

you flopped onto your bed dramatically, clutching your crumpled list of socratic seminar questions to your chest.

ollie sat at your desk, spinning lazily in your chair, sneakers kicking the floor. "alright, hit me," he said confidently. "what’s the topic?"

"free will versus determinism," you mumbled.

the spinning stopped. "versus… what now?"

"basically if we’re actually making our own choices or if everything’s already determined by fate or whatever."

he blinked. "that’s—" he paused. spun half a turn. "that’s horrible."

"right?"

you sat up, tossing the paper at him. he caught it clumsily, holding it like it was evidence in a murder trial.

"okay," he said bravely. "let's prepare. like sparring. you ask the question. i'll answer. we'll crush it."

you grinned, feeling slightly more hopeful. "alright. first question: do humans have free will?"

he sat up straighter, nodded like a professor. "yes. obviously. i chose to have cereal for breakfast instead of toast."

you stared.

he stared back.

"expand on that," you said, trying not to laugh.

"i… woke up. thought about toast. but then thought about cereal. then chose cereal. therefore: free will," he said, counting on his fingers like he was delivering the sermon on the mount.

"that’s not exactly the level they’re expecting," you said gently.

he looked personally offended. "what do they want from me? a thesis?"

you giggled, crawling over and tapping his forehead. "less toast. more philosophy."

he groaned dramatically, throwing himself backward into the chair. "you know what? tell them life is like… racing."

you blinked. "go on."

"you think you're choosing everything — when to brake, when to turn — but a lot of it’s already decided by where you start, how good the car is, who’s around you." he shrugged. "you're choosing. but also, you’re not."

you stared at him, jaw dropping slightly.

"wait. that’s… actually brilliant."

he looked smug. "yeah. i have like… two brain cells. but they’re powerful."

you burst out laughing, shoving his chair lightly. "you're my philosophical weapon, bearman."

he grinned, reaching out to boop your nose. "go in there, say something about cereal and racing, and you’ll win life."

ʚ・isack hadjar

you sighed dramatically, slumping over your laptop. “isack. i’m going to fail biology.”

he flopped onto your bed like a ragdoll, arms spread wide. “what’s the topic?”

you pointed to your screen. “i have to write a research paper on parasitic mind control.”

he sat up immediately, looking way too excited. “like zombies?”

you nodded grimly. “fungus that takes over ants' brains. worms that control fish. it’s horrific.”

isack beamed like you just told him christmas came early. “that’s so sick.”

you gave him a look. “yeah. sick. and confusing. and complicated. and i have no idea where to start.”

he scooted closer, peering at your half-typed notes. "okay okay okay. listen. this is easy."

you raised an eyebrow. "you failed high school biology."

"details," he said, waving a hand. "first, write something dramatic. grab their attention."

you frowned. “like what?”

he grinned. "start it like: 'imagine you're walking through the jungle… and a fungus eats your brain from the inside out.'”

you blinked. "that's… actually kind of good?"

"i'm french," he said smugly. "we know drama."

you laughed, slumping against him. "okay, what about the actual science part?"

he shrugged. "google it?"

you gave him another look.

he grinned wider. "or we make it up."

"isack."

"kidding! kidding!" he said, throwing his hands up. "we'll be semi accurate."

you sighed, grabbing your textbook again. "alright, fine. help me brainstorm."

two hours later, your "brainstorm" session had devolved into him pitching increasingly insane theories about zombie ants building secret underground cities and whether or not humans were already infected without knowing it.

(you were 60% sure he wasn’t joking.)

by the end of the night, your essay actually had a strong intro, a rough outline, and a lot of isack’s terrible but weirdly inspiring ideas scribbled in the margins.

he flopped onto the bed dramatically as you typed. "you're welcome for the nobel prize."

you laughed. "you’re lucky you’re cute."

"obviously," he said, already dozing off beside you.

ʚ・jack doohan

you groaned, flopping onto your desk dramatically, your french textbook sliding dangerously close to the edge.

jack leaned over your shoulder, chewing gum casually like he wasn’t about to experience a full-blown existential crisis. "what's wrong?"

"i have to write a whole essay in french," you moaned. "about my childhood memories. and i can barely even say bonjour without crying."

he grinned. "alright, alright. let’s do it together. how hard can it be?"

you gave him a flat look. "do you even speak french?"

jack paused.

then, without missing a beat: "no. but i know how to say croissant."

you buried your face in your arms.

"okay, okay," he said, standing up dramatically. "don’t panic. i have resources."

you peeked up at him. "resources?"

he pulled out his phone, typing aggressively. "pierre gasly. we’re calling for backup."

you stared at him. "jack. you can’t just facetime pierre for my homework."

"watch me."

three rings later, pierre’s blurry, confused face appeared on screen. "mate? everything okay?"

jack grinned, tilting the phone so pierre could see you buried under a pile of french worksheets. "yeah bro, can you help my girl with her french essay? she's suffering."

pierre blinked. smirked. "of course. what’s the topic?"

"childhood memories," you mumbled from under your arm.

pierre laughed. "easy. start with quand j'étais petit(e), je… then you just lie for the next five sentences."

jack nodded like he was absorbing ancient wisdom. "got it. lie. good plan."

you giggled despite yourself, sitting up. pierre rattled off a few starter phrases, jack repeating them horribly with a thick aussie accent that made you laugh so hard you almost fell off your chair.

thirty minutes later, you had the rough beginnings of an essay — half of it thanks to pierre, half of it thanks to jack’s chaotic moral support.

when you finally hung up, jack grinned, ruffling your hair.

"see? teamwork."

you beamed at him. "you’re ridiculous."

"and you’re gonna ace it," he said confidently. "just… maybe don’t pronounce anything the way i did."

ʚ・gabriel bortoleto

you slumped dramatically against the back of your chair, spinning aimlessly as your world history textbook lay open on your desk.

gabriel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling knowingly. “homework?”

"yeah," you groaned. "i have to write a five-page essay about how the roman empire influenced modern society."

he perked up instantly. "i love the roman empire."

you blinked. "of course you do."

he jogged over, pulling up a chair like he was about to host a ted talk. "okay, first of all — aqueducts. engineering marvels. you have to mention aqueducts."

you scribbled it down obediently. "aqueducts. got it."

"and roads," he added, already starting to gesture with his hands. "they basically invented the highway system. you ever think about that? roman highways."

you nodded, typing faster.

"and then there’s the legal system!" he continued, eyes sparkling. "so much of what we use today — courts, contracts, property laws — came from roman principles."

you stared at him, slightly overwhelmed. "how do you know all this?"

he shrugged, grinning. "i read. also, tiktok sometimes. but mostly reading."

you giggled, glancing at the growing list of topics he was rattling off. "okay, but i need, like, structure."

"structure!" he clapped his hands dramatically. "introduction: why the roman empire mattered. body paragraphs: engineering, law, military, politics. conclusion: the vibes are still alive today."

you snorted. "did you just say vibes in an academic plan?"

he winked. "scholarly vibes."

you tried to focus, typing as he ranted — but soon enough he was deep-diving into random side topics like roman concrete, weird emperors, and the fact that vending machines were technically invented by ancient engineers (somehow???).

“gabriel!” you finally laughed, cutting him off mid-rant about julius caesar's calendar reforms. “stay on topic!”

he blinked innocently. “i am on topic.”

you giggled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “you're my favorite chaotic historian.”

“and you're welcome for the best essay of your life,” he said, proudly tossing your pen onto the bed.

ʚ・liam lawson

you groaned, dramatically sliding down the couch until you were nearly horizontal, a stack of history books balancing dangerously on your stomach.

liam glanced over from where he was gaming on the floor. "what's wrong now, princess?"

"i have to write an essay about the economic effects of the industrial revolution," you mumbled. "for advanced history."

he paused his game.

turned.

and gave you the most falsely confident smile you’d ever seen.

"easy," he said, tossing his controller aside. "i know all about that."

you blinked. "you do?"

"yeah," he said, nodding seriously. "the industrial revolution… that’s when people invented factories. and, uh… steam. steam was big."

you stared.

"lots of steam," he added, deadpan.

"liam."

he grinned. "okay, fine, i don’t know shit. but i am great at making things sound convincing."

you laughed, tossing a pillow at him.

he crawled over, plopping next to you, skimming your textbook like it was written in alien language. "alright, so… just say that people started making stuff faster. like, mass production. and the economy got booming. profit. money. cha-ching."

you scribbled a few notes, giggling. "you’re literally just saying capitalism noises."

"exactly!" he said proudly. "that's history, babe."

you groaned, but couldn't stop smiling. he peeked over your shoulder at your half-written paragraph.

"also mention… pollution," he said, squinting at a random heading in your book. "people were coughing and stuff. very historical."

you laughed harder, shoulders shaking. "you're the worst tutor."

"and yet, you're smiling," he teased, bumping your shoulder.

you shook your head, finishing your messy draft while he threw in random "facts" like, "probably some guy tried to steam-power a horse" and "definitely child labor, don't forget that."

when you finally set your pen down, exhausted but a little triumphant, liam wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"see? history made easy. just add steam, money, and mild suffering."

you leaned back into him, laughing. "remind me to never let you help me again."

he smirked against your hair. "you’ll come back. i’m irresistible."

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[lttleghost]

I've complained about this meme before but I feel like I can more precisely describe why it pisses me off now, cause like yeah yeah it's silly it doesn't matter all that much but like... the joke of it is basically just "haha Jesse stupid and messes stuff up Walt knows about" without actually... thinking about Walt or Jesse's characters and what they're actually knowledgeable about nor about the actual contexts of all trainwrecks that these two get into and how almost every single time it's WALT who had the more reasonable option to avoid it

like okay so we see Jesse play video games, we see even more game cases scattered around his house and apartment, my girl is a gamer, and there is no such evidence with Walt. if one of these characters knows a ton about minecraft and the other doesn't, the knowledgeable one is gonna be Jesse - but Walt hates not being in control, he likes to boss around others and he thinks he knows better than others, and especially thinks he knows better than Jesse, and Jesse has shit self esteem and is easily manipulated and caves to what Walt wants him to do most of the time after awhile. realistically this situation would go something along the lines of Jesse trying to tell Walt how to make a cobblestone generator, Walt saying that it makes no sense for some reason or another and telling Jesse to do it a different way, and then acting like it's Jesse's fault that it didn't work when Jesse goes and does it like Walt told him to, kinda like how Jesse tells Walt that doing certain things and getting involved with certain people as drug dealers isn't a good idea and Walt tells him to do something anyway and it goes badly for both of them

or even if we wanted to assume that Walt IS the one with the minecraft knowledge, any time past literally episode one Jesse tends to ask questions when he doesn't fully understand something, and Walt often just dismisses the question, Jesse still tries to do whatever he's supposed to with his limited knowledge but fails, in such examples as "why won't fluoric acid melt this flimsy plastic" so a different route for a more accurate meme is that Walt tells Jesse how to make the cobblestone generator, something about the process doesn't make sense to Jesse, he asks a clarifying question, Walt's answer is basically "fuck you", Jesse still tries his goddamn best even if he fails and Walt blames it on Jesse over considering the idea that refusing to answer Jesse's clarifying question was the actual problem

[gilbertscurls]

live from tour: the simp — chris sturniolo

“Alright, next question!” Matt grinned as he leaned into the mic, scanning the crowd of eager fans seated for the VIP soundcheck. The venue echoed with soft murmurs and squeals, the faint thrum of pre-show excitement buzzing in the air.

Nick leaned back in his chair, balancing the mic lazily on his knee like a seasoned rockstar, while Chris sat between them, practically bouncing in his seat.

"Hi!" A girl from the second row stood up. "This one's for all three of you—what's your favorite thing to do on your days off during tour?"

Matt nodded like it was a solid question. “I like finding weird thrift shops in random cities,” he said. “Like, if it looks like it might have been haunted in the 1970s, I’m going in.”

"Yeah," Nick agreed, “and I usually end up buying some really questionable vintage jacket that I think looks cool but makes me look like a ‘70s magician.”

Chris raised his mic, smile already tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, personally…” he began, stretching the word out like he was savoring it, “my favorite thing to do is FaceTime Y/N.”

A few people in the crowd let out soft “awwws” while Matt’s head whipped toward him like a bird spotting a snack.

Nick squinted. “You mean to tell me we’ve been in Chicago for 24 hours, surrounded by Chicago-style pizza and majestic old buildings, and your highlight was a FaceTime call?”

Chris didn’t even blink. “She showed me her cat in a little sweater. It was life-changing.”

Matt snorted, barely holding back a laugh. “You’re down cat bad.”

The fans cracked up as Chris waved him off, though the blush spreading across his face betrayed him.

“No, no, wait,” Nick leaned forward, feigning seriousness. “You mean the same Y/N who called during dinner last night and Chris answered on speakerphone in the middle of the restaurant like we weren’t actively being stared at by half the staff?”

“She had an emergency!” Chris defended.

“What was the emergency again?” Matt asked, smirking.

“She couldn’t remember if she liked blueberries or blackberries better.”

“Oh, crucial life moment,” Nick deadpanned. “We’re lucky you saved her.”

The crowd erupted with laughter again, and Chris held his mic up like a shield. “You guys don’t understand, okay? Y/N is funny and smart and—”

“—and clearly holding you hostage,” Matt interrupted.

Nick leaned toward the crowd conspiratorially. “Blink twice if you’re okay, Chris.”

Chris rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin on his face. “You’re all just jealous you don’t have someone who sends you memes that are actually funny.”

“Oh, I see,” Matt said. “So when you were laughing uncontrollably in the back lounge yesterday and said it was ‘a podcast moment,’ that was actually a Y/N meme?”

“I plead the fifth,” Chris mumbled into his mic.

Nick leaned back, fake-exasperated. “Man’s in his Lover Era and dragging us all into the montage.”

“She’s got him in a chokehold,” Matt added, miming it dramatically.

Chris folded his arms. “You know what? I hope Y/N sees this clip. She deserves to know how bullied I am.”

Matt turned to the crowd. “Someone please record this and send it to her. Title it: ‘Chris Can’t Go Five Minutes Without Saying Y/N.’”

“Oh, that should’ve been the tour name!” Nick gasped.

“The Y/N World Domination Tour,” Matt declared, pointing at the invisible marquee. “Starring: Chris and the two bitter side characters.”

Chris shook his head, but his smile gave him away. “Whatever, keep laughing. At least I have someone who’ll make me banana bread when I get home.”

“Okay, now that’s unfair,” Matt muttered. “No one’s ever made me banana bread.”

“I’ve never even touched a banana that wasn’t a smoothie,” Nick added, scandalized.

The girl who’d asked the question was still standing, beaming, as Chris finally looked back at her and said, “So yeah. On our days off, I hang out with Y/N. It’s the best part of my day. Sorry, not sorry.”

Nick turned his mic toward her. “We regret to inform you the question was hijacked.”

“Please direct all further inquiries to Y/N, since clearly she’s the fourth Sturniolo Triplet now,” Matt added, pretending to scoot his chair over to make room.

Chris gave a little bow. “She says thank you.”

The crowd roared. Somewhere, probably already recording a reaction TikTok to this moment, Y/N was laughing her head off—knowing full well that no matter how far Chris traveled or how loud the fans screamed, she was still the main character in his mind.

And, to be fair, she did send some pretty elite memes.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming, @backwardshatnick

[blairxbear]

How they react to you texting them for help, only to find out there's just a spider in your room...

UA Part 1 / UA Part 2 / Pro Heroes / Villains

Pure fluff, chaotic misunderstandings, and lots of over-the-top reactions!

Featuring: Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi/Toya Todoroki, Shuichi Iguchi/Spinner, Kai Chisake/Overhaul, Jin Bubaigawara/Twice, Atsuhiro Sako/Mr. Compress, Young All For One

Tomura Shigaraki 

Your Text:

"Tomura, HELP. I need you right now!! It’s an emergency!"

His Reaction:

Instantly on high alert.

Drops his controller mid-game, nearly breaking it.

"Who the fuck is messing with them?!"

Doesn’t even bother texting back.

MARCHES over to your place, hood up, fingers twitching.

KICKS OPEN YOUR DOOR. "Alright, who the hell am I killing?"

Sees you standing on your bed, clutching a pillow, pointing at the wall.

Sees the spider.

Absolute silence.

His eye twitches.

"…Are you fucking kidding me?"

You shake your head frantically. "IT’S HUGE, TOMURA."

Facepalms so hard, muttering about how he needs new friends.

Doesn’t even hesitate—just lifts his hand and DISINTEGRATES the wall along with the spider.

You stare at the gaping hole in your wall.

Tomura crosses his arms. "Problem solved."

You sigh. "You’re fixing that."

"Tch. Whatever. Just don’t text me like that again unless you’re actually dying."

Bonus: Next time, he replies with, "Spider or actual emergency? Answer carefully."

Toya Todoroki (Dabi)

Your Text:

"Dabi, please help! I need you NOW!"

His Reaction:

Smirks the second he sees your text.

"Heh. Guess I’m their first call for trouble, huh?"

Acts all casual but actually hurries over.

KICKS IN THE WINDOW instead of using the door.

"Alright, babe, where’s the danger?"

You frantically point at the spider on the wall.

Silence.

He just stares at you, then at the spider, then back at you.

Bursts out laughing.

"No fucking way. You texted me like you were being kidnapped—for a SPIDER?!"

You glare at him, still clinging to your bed. "It’s HUGE."

He’s still laughing, hands on his knees, wheezing.

"Babe, I set entire buildings on fire. And you want me to deal with this?"

Still laughing but casually flicks a small blue flame at the spider, incinerating it.

Turns to you, smirking. "You good now, princess?"

You pout. "I hate you."

"Nah, you love me." Winks and jumps back out the window like a menace.

Bonus: Next time, he sends you a meme of a spider before even showing up.

Shuichi Iguchi (Spinner) 

Your Text:

"Spinner, PLEASE COME FAST! I need your help!"

His Reaction:

Absolute panic.

Immediately assumes you’re in danger.

"SHIT. I GOTTA GO."

Sprints over like his life depends on it.

Barges in, slightly out of breath. "A-alright, what’s happening? Are you okay?!"

Sees you standing on a chair, shaking.

Sees the spider chilling in the corner.

Stops. Blinks. 

Realization hits.

"…Wait. You… texted me for a SPIDER?"

You nod.

You see his eye twitch like he’s having an internal crisis.

Debates whether he should be mad or find it cute.

Sighs, rubs the back of his head. "Jeez, (Y/N), you scared me."

Gently picks up the spider with his bare hands and takes it outside.

Comes back in, looking slightly exasperated. "Seriously, I thought you were dying."

You look away, embarrassed. "…It was big."

He chuckles, ruffling your hair. "Yeah, yeah. Just call me your personal Spider Slayer, I guess."

Bonus: Next time, he’s still gonna come running. But he’ll text first: "Is it an emergency or another spider?"

Kai Chisaki (Overhaul) 

Your Text:

"Chisaki, HELP. I need you right now! It’s an emergency!"

His Reaction:

IMMEDIATELY thinks you’re in serious danger.

Stops whatever he’s doing, fixes his gloves, and storms over like he’s about to commit a murder.

Slams the door open, eyes sharp. "Who touched you?"

Sees you standing on your chair, clutching a pillow.

Sees the spider on the wall.

Dead silence.

His eyes narrow.

Looks at you. Looks at the spider. Back at you.

"…You’re kidding me."

You shake your head frantically. "Chisaki, IT’S HUGE."

Scoffs, crosses his arms. "Disgusting. You made me rush over here for this?"

Reluctantly takes off his glove, touches the spider, and disintegrates it instantly.

Then disinfects his entire hand for five minutes while lecturing you.

"I deal with actual filth. And this is what you need me for?"

Glares but still stays long enough to make sure you don’t scream over another one.

Bonus: Next time, he just sends you a picture of hand sanitizer with the text: "Handle it yourself."

Jin Bubaigawara (Twice) 

Your Text:

"JIN, PLEASE HELP! I NEED YOU NOW!"

His Reaction:

Instant panic.

"OH SHIT, HOLD ON, I’M COMING—WAIT, AM I GOING? YES, I AM—NO, I’M NOT—YES, I AM!"

Rushes over at full speed, nearly trips over himself.

Slams the door open, breathing heavily.

"WHO’S ATTACKING YOU?!"

Sees you standing on the couch, pointing at the floor.

Sees the spider.

You both scream.

"AHHHHHH IT MOVED— WHY AM I SCREAMING?!"

Runs behind you like you’re supposed to protect him.

Realizes what he’s doing, clears his throat, and puffs out his chest.

"Alright, babe, I GOT THIS."

Grabs a shoe and goes to smack the spider—misses.

Now both of you are running around the room, Jin panicking while also yelling at himself.

Finally traps the spider under a cup, breathing hard.

"THAT WAS TOO CLOSE. I ALMOST DIED—WAIT, NO, I DIDN’T—YES, I DID—NO, I’M FINE!"

Hugs you dramatically. "We survived, babe."

Bonus: Now, every time you text him, he responds with "SPIDER OR ACTUAL DEATH?" before showing up.

Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress) 

Your Text:

"Atsuhiro, HELP ME! IT’S URGENT!"

His Reaction:

Reads the text, raises an eyebrow.

Fixes his hat, intrigued. "Hmm. My dear needs rescuing? This sounds interesting."

Casually walks over like he has all the time in the world.

Steps inside, sees you standing on your desk.

Sees the spider.

Pauses. Tilts his head. Smirks.

"Darling… is this the life-threatening emergency?"

You glare at him. "Atsuhiro, IT’S GONNA JUMP."

Chuckles, dramatically removing his glove.

With a flourish, he flicks his wrist, and POOF—the spider is compressed into a tiny marble.

Shows it to you with a smug grin. "I believe the villain has been apprehended."

You sigh in relief, but then he just… doesn’t let it go.

Pockets the marble and smirks. "I think I’ll keep this as a reminder of how terribly brave you were."

For the next week, he casually rolls the "spider marble" between his fingers just to mess with you.

Bonus: Next time, he responds with, "Shall I bring my hat and perform a grand disappearing act for another spider?"

Young All for One 

Your Text:

"AFO, PLEASE HELP! I need you right now!"

His Reaction:

Reads the text, slightly irritated but also intrigued.

"Hmm. How interesting. They rarely ask for help."

Walks over like a king gracing you with his presence.

Steps inside, sees you curled up on the bed.

Sees the spider in the corner.

Pauses.

Slowly looks at you with the most UNIMPRESSED expression imaginable.

"…You summoned me… for this?"

You nod, wide-eyed. "It’s huge."

He sighs, rubbing his temple. "You are aware I command a legion of villains, correct?"

Still disintegrates the spider effortlessly, then crosses his arms.

Looks at you like he’s deciding whether to be annoyed or entertained.

"This is beneath me, but… I suppose even the strongest require assistance sometimes."

Leans down, smirking. "You owe me."

Leaves dramatically, still shaking his head.

Bonus: Next time, he’ll just text back: "I am not exterminator. Handle it yourself." (But he’ll still show up anyway.)

Ko-fi / Masterlist

blairxbear © 2024. do not copy, modify, or translate my work. you do not have permission to share my work outside of tumblr!

[brainddeadd]

Ok so I was thinking what about baby devil going on break between season and deciding not to message the guys cause she doesn't wanna feel like a burden or like she's annoying them

Out of Sight, Out of Mind?

The offseason was supposed to be a time to relax, unwind, and breathe after months of non-stop hockey. Y/N had plans—travel, sleep, maybe even touch grass—but the one thing she wasn’t going to do? Bother the guys.

Not that they ever said she was annoying, but… she knew how it went. The season was long, they were always together, and now that they finally had a break, they probably didn’t want their baby teammate blowing up their phones.

So, for the first time since she joined the team, she let the group chat sit on read.

No memes.

No random voice notes of her making noises.

No unhinged chirps.

Silence.

At first, it wasn’t hard. She filled the time with workouts, summer plans, and whatever new hyperfixation caught her attention. But by week two, it started to feel… weird. The quiet was too quiet.

She missed the chirping, the chaos, the way Jack would text just to complain about something stupid, or the way Dawson would promise to FaceTime but never follow through. She missed Nico’s "Are you alive?" check-ins and Luke’s half-assed reactions to whatever nonsense she sent.

She missed them.

But maybe they didn’t miss her.

Maybe they were happy for the break.

So she said nothing.

Jack Hughes (The Complainer)

Two and a half weeks in, Jack Hughes finally snapped.

Jacky Boi: did u die???

Jacky Boi: r u in a ditch???

Jacky Boi: why the fuck is it so quiet????

When she didn’t answer right away, her phone rang.

"Okay, what the hell," Jack said the second she picked up. "Did you block me? Did you die? Are you in witness protection?"

Y/N blinked. "Hi to you too."

"Don’t ‘hi’ me. Where the fuck have you been?"

"Uh… existing?"

"Okay, well, stop that and come back. Group chat is dead. Luke is sending workout stats like a loser. Nico asked us about ‘summer reading.��� We’re suffering."

Y/N snorted. "Maybe I figured you guys needed a break from me."

A pause. Then—

Jack’s voice, flat and unimpressed: "That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard."

Luke Hughes (The Low-Effort Worrier)

Not even an hour later, Luke texted.

Lukey: ur alive?

Baby devil: did jack tell you to check?

Lukey: no? but like. ur usually loud. and now ur not. weird.

She smiled at her phone.

Baby devil: miss me?

Lukey: no. i just want normal gc content again. jack is so annoying.

Baby devil: Awww, you love me <3

Lukey: shut up.

Nico Hischier (The Responsible Captain™)

A few days later, Nico finally reached out.

Cap: I don’t mean to bother you, but are you okay?

Baby devil: Yeah, why?

Cap: You’ve been quiet. Just wanted to make sure everything is good.

Y/N hesitated before typing.

Baby devil: I didn’t want to be annoying. Figured you guys needed a break from me.

This time, the response was instant.

Cap: That’s ridiculous. You’re not annoying. We miss you. Text back more.

Cap: Also, Jack is spiraling. Please send a meme or something before he makes another TikTok.

She laughed out loud.

Maybe she was an idiot.

Maybe she should’ve known they’d miss her too.

[hivemuthur]

Hello love,

I was hoping to request a jayvik x reader with depression. Ideally a modern college AU, maybe reader hasn't left their room in a few days and the boys check on them?? Angsty fluff?? Do with this as you will, take what you want leave what you don't, whatever you write will be amazing. Make sure you're resting, eating, and touching grass love <3

Hi love! I'm sorry it took so long, I feel like two weeks might just settle as my current waiting time :v I confirm that eating and touching grass has been done today. Here it goes!

Help me get back to your arms

jayvikxgn!reader general audiences, Modern college AU, depressed reader, comfort and fluff

author’s note: title from Radiohead's song Motion Picture Soundtrack. And thank you guys for sending me such lovely requests. Forgot to say, @rennethen beta read this, thank you!

word count: 0,9K

—

Your phone keeps buzzing, and after some time, you stop bothering to check. You bury your head under the pillow and groan. It’s only been two days, hasn’t it? Or was it more?

The vibrations become so annoying that you finally pick up your phone, intending to turn it off—until you see the notification, and your heart melts a little. Jayce and Viktor are bickering in your group chat over the propriety of the memes Jayce has been sending you. And while some of them are, well… corny, the whole conversation still makes you smile.

Until a sharp knock on your dorm room door makes you jump, and your phone slips from your hand before you can finish reading.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, calculating whether you can just ignore it.

“Hey, it’s me!” comes a cheerful voice, and you already know Jayce is pressing his ear to the door.

“And me,” Viktor adds, with a hint of sulk that makes you sure he just rolled his eyes at Jayce and huffed.

“Yeah, right! It’s us. Can we come in?”

You glance around your room—uh, it’s a mess. You glance down at yourself—uh, you’re an even bigger mess. But before you can answer, the door cracks open.

Viktor’s worried face peeks through, his eyes lighting up as soon as he sees you. “Hey, darling. Can we come in?”

He pauses, waiting for confirmation, and you find yourself frozen in place, standing in the middle of the room, unable to say anything. So instead, you just nod and hold your arms out in front of you.

Viktor is between them instantly, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, his hand rubbing slow circles over your back. Moments later, Jayce presses up behind you, resting his chin on top of your head and sealing the group hug by placing his hands on Viktor’s shoulders.

Their scents mix together, and suddenly, you find it easier to breathe. Their chests press against you, squeezing the exhales from your lungs, and warmth blooms deep in your ribs. Viktor’s hair tickles your cheek, and Jayce’s palm rubs the back of your neck.

It’s safe.

“We brought food,” Viktor offers, tilting your chin up with his finger and giving you a soft smile.

“Or rather, snacks, since we figured real food might be too demanding,” Jayce corrects, and Viktor rolls his eyes again, murmuring something under his breath.

You sigh, your body sagging slightly between them. Food is the last thing on your mind right now. Instead, you ask, voice quiet, “How did you even know I was here?”

Viktor’s lips curve into a knowing smile as he tilts his head toward Jayce. “He has been refreshing Find My Friends for the last couple of hours before we decided to check.”

Jayce scratches the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “Well… yeah,” he admits. “You weren’t answering, and we got worried.”

His eyes search yours, warm and careful, and after a moment, he asks, “How are you?”

You wince, and the reaction is instant—Jayce doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps you up in another firm hug, squeezing the answer out of you without making you say a word. “It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Viktor, still holding your hand, squeezes it gently. “Do you want to watch a documentary instead?”

You nod, feeling the weight in your chest ease just a little.

“Good,” Viktor says, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before leading you toward the bed. “I have one on deep-sea creatures that might just lull you to sleep.”

“I like deep-sea creatures,” you mumble as you sit down.

Jayce chuckles. “Guess we’re watching creepy fish, then.”

The three of you settle onto the bed, shifting and adjusting until you find the right fit. Viktor puts the film on, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows across the room. You’re nestled between them, your head resting on Jayce’s arm, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you.

On your other side, Viktor nuzzles in, his head resting on your shoulder, his hair tickling the curve of your neck. His leg is lazily thrown over your hips, anchoring himself to you, as if making sure you won’t slip away. Their hands intertwine over your stomach, fingers laced together in a quiet show of solidarity.

For a while, the only sound is the deep-voiced narrator explaining the eerie bioluminescence of some deep-sea creature, but Jayce, never one to sit still for long, eventually rustles open a packet of jellies. He pops one into his mouth before holding the bag out to you.

You hesitate, but when he gives you a little nudge, you sigh and take one. As soon as you do, he grins knowingly and flicks his gaze to Viktor, who, despite his apparent focus on the documentary, quirks an amused brow.

“Predictable,” Viktor murmurs, his voice warm with affection.

Jayce just smirks, nudging your side playfully. “Yeah, yeah. But at least she’s eating.” Viktor hums in agreement, pressing the lightest of kisses to your shoulder before settling in closer. The weight of them, the warmth of their bodies, the way their presence demands nothing from you—it’s enough. For now, it’s enough.

[mapsthewanderer]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb XI

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 2600 words. Non-MC!Reader as the law student. So. The movies. What’s gonna happen? Who knows. But it features: Newbie texting in full chaos mode, Caleb being a certified menace-level flirt, and a little surprise thrown in for good measure. Just fluff, just vibes—with a sprinkle of smoool angst, obviously. Because honestly, who wants to be in lawyer girl’s position?

Parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01 @ariakamil @zaynessdarling @gojosballsack69 @moon-cakei

Scared little sandwich | Pt. 11

You walk.

Because that’s all you can do.

The floor hums faintly beneath your sneakers, sticky in places from years of spilled soda and adolescent heartbreak. The lighting overhead is soft, a little dimmer than it needs to be, catching on the silver chain at your collarbone with every step.

Your eyes flick between Caleb—still leaned against the wall, still watching with that unreadable kind of focus like he’s waiting for you to make the next move—and the girl beside him. Apple Girl. Still talking. Still smiling like this is just a casual night out and not whatever…this is.

Your hand fumbles into your pocket like it’s acting on instinct, already fishing out your phone with the urgency of someone defusing a bomb. Because the newbie has to know that this is not a date, it’s a beautifully lit social crisis.

A thousand possible exit routes flare in your brain like courtroom objections. Just turn around. Just say you forgot something. Just fake appendicitis. Just—

Bang.

The restroom door swings open hard and fast—right into your shoulder.

You stumble back with a yelp, nearly dropping your phone.

“Shit—oh my god, sorry,” says the guy behind it, immediately reaching out to steady you. His hand catches your elbow, warm and solid. “Didn’t see you there—shit, you okay?”

You look up.

And up.

Leather jacket. Broad shoulders. Familiar smile.

You blink.

And then it hits you.

Photos. Memes. The chaotic group texts. The guy who dared Caleb to chug a cold brew—and then puked after doing ten pushups to prove it wouldn’t mess him up, too.

Gideon.

It’s Gideon.

“Oh,” he says, smile widening. “You’re Golden Girl, right?”

You nod before you even register doing it, still gripping the doorframe like it might stop you from blacking out on the spot. “Yeah. I—uh—hi.”

He extends a hand like you’ve been in the same friend group for years. “I’m Gideon.”

Of course you are. Of course he is.

And just like that, your hand is already in his. Before you can recover, a voice breezes in beside you, cheerful and citrusy.

“She’s here!”

Apple Girl twirls slightly, drink in one hand, the other already extended like she’s been waiting all week to meet you.

“Hi! I’m—”

“Apple Girl,” you say automatically.

She blinks, then breaks into a bright laugh. “Right. That works.” And because this night refuses to stop escalating, she pulls you into a quick hug. Like it’s natural. Like it’s normal.

“I’ve heard so much about you.”

Possibly the worst sentence in the English language.

You don’t say anything in response. Don’t move. But inside? Inside you want to spin on your heel, point at Caleb like a prosecuting attorney and demand answers. What was the plan here, exactly? What was going through that smug, violet-eyed head of his? You want to put him on the stand. Grill him until he sweats. Ask what the hell he was thinking. Ask why you ever thought—for even one second—that trusting him wouldn’t completely rearrange your emotional architecture.

You want to go home. Crawl under a blanket. Cry. Maybe sue him.

But instead—

Caleb’s still standing nearby, quiet and unreadable, hands in his pockets, eyes on you. And when the hug ends, he pulls one hand from his pocket. Holds something up between two fingers.

A crinkly bag. Sour Patch Kids.

“Promise kept,” he says.

You’re still trying to figure out what to do with that when Gideon pipes up from behind the group:

“So what are we seeing again? Or is this one of Caleb’s ‘trust the vibes’ operations?”

Caleb’s grin cuts sideways toward you. “Didn’t want to scare anyone off.”

Apple Girl—still standing very, very close—laughs lightly, fingers brushing Caleb’s arm like she’s done it a hundred times. “He likes to surprise people. It’s kind of his thing.”

Arms crossed, you mutter, “Cool. Can’t wait to be dismembered emotionally and cinematically.” It comes out too smooth, too fast, and only once it’s hanging in the air do you realize: oh. That was out loud.

Apple Girl leans in slightly, still smiling like this is all perfectly casual. “Don’t worry. Caleb gives the best huggies when people get scared.”

Caleb tilts his head, looking at you. “Only if requested.”

Gideon snorts. “That’s true. Human furnace over there. Comes with unsolicited life advice and everything.”

Caleb elbows him—light, practiced. “Bold talk, considering you needed that hug after crying during the dog commercial last month.”

“That dog was brave,” Gideon mutters.

Processing the awkward tension? Not an option. Apple Girl’s already tugging on Caleb’s sleeve like she’s done it a hundred times. “Come on,” she grins. “They’re starting trailers.”

Gideon’s already turning. Apple Girl’s tugging. And you—

You’re still standing in the middle of the theater lobby, air thick with popcorn butter and confusion, staring at a boy who kissed you and then brought two other people to your not-a-date date.

This is either the most chaotic, unannounced double date known to man… or just four friends hanging out. And somehow, you can’t even begin to decide which is worse.

You follow them in, because what else can you do?

And that’s when you realize:

You still have to survive the next 120 minutes.

——————————————————————————

The theater is dim and cavernous, cold enough to raise goosebumps on your arms. Colors flash across the screen in quick cuts. You trail behind the others down the aisle, heart stuttering as they slide into seats.

Gideon.

Apple Girl.

Caleb.

And then… you.

Caleb turns slightly in his seat as you slide in next to him. “Don’t be scared,” he says, too close to your ear. “I’ll cover your eyes if it gets too terrifying. Like if there’s a serious lack of plot.”

You hum. “Terrifying is sitting in row seven of a date that came with a guest list.”

His grin widens, like he’s about to volley back—

But Apple Girl tugs lightly on his sleeve, asking something about the trailers. A director’s name. A past role. You don’t know. You’re too busy biting the inside of your cheek, trying not to scream into the void.

And then—because of course—the worst thing happens:

He shifts.

Smooth. Barely noticeable. Unless you’re the person whose leg suddenly has company.

You pull back, just slightly.

He doesn’t.

If anything, Caleb settles deeper into his seat, widening his stance like he has all the room in the world. And his knee brushes yours once again.

Your heart does a full gymnastics routine. Objection. Objection. O.B.J.E.C.T.I.O.N.

The lights dim.

The trailers start.

You: abort mission. it’s a friend hang out. help.

The screen glows too bright in the dark, lighting your face like a confession booth. You hunch lower into your seat, thumbs flying.

You: apple girl hugged me. gideon called me golden girl. I am going to pass away in this seat.

Newbie: ok wow. you’re inside a horror movie before the movie starts. you are LIVING THE GENRE. do not die before the popcorn.

You: he’s in the middle. like literally between me and apple girl. is this a sandwich?? is he the filling???

Newbie: i’m going to sue him recreationally.

You: i think i just agreed to a throuple by sitting down.

Newbie: ok but you’d be the main character in the throuple.

You glare at your phone. You are not laughing. You are spiraling. There is a difference.

You: what if i just… stand up. walk out.

Newbie: i’ll text you a distraction cue. tell me when.

You: i hate that you could probably actually pull that off.

Newbie: it would involve fire. but i’ve got the matches.

As if summoned—of course—a familiar rustle brushes over your screen. You glance up.

A bag of Sour Patch Kids is dangling directly in front of your phone. Caleb’s hand. A nudge, gentle. Just the bag, offered like a peace treaty.

You shake your head slightly, trying to finish typing.

You: i’m ignoring him.

Newbie: no you’re not.

You: shut up.

You peek up.

Caleb is still holding the bag, resting his elbow on the armrest like he has all the time in the world. His eyes flick to you.

One eyebrow lifts.

Challenge.

Fine.

A few candies are snatched and pocketed like survival gear and send off the last message.

You: if i survive this i’m never trusting another barista again.

Newbie: but would you kiss him again.

Caleb shifts beside you. Didn’t even notice he’d leaned in until his breath brushed your cheek—and then—

“Pretty sure lighting up an entire row with your phone is, like… illegal,” he whispers, lips barely grazing your ear.

You freeze. Feel your heartbeat trip into something off-rhythm. Your laugh gets caught halfway up your throat. You glance at him—he’s grinning. Very proud.

You want to cry. Or crawl into the popcorn machine. Or kiss him again, which might be worse.

The movie starts.

And your dignity ends.

You shove your phone into your pocket—right on top of the handful of Sour Patch Kids. They squish immediately, sugar and regret forming an unholy alliance. Future you is going to hate that.

Then you cross your arms. Lean back.

Try to look neutral. Try not to think.

Fail immediately.

Forty seconds in, someone on screen is already being creatively dismembered. You make a noise that might qualify as a prayer.

Caleb leans again. This time it’s a laugh, warm and close.

“You sure you’re a tough one?” he murmurs.

You shrug. Barely. Your neck is too stiff to move like a person.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Newbie: ok hear me out. i call your phone pretending to be your RA. say there’s a plumbing leak in your apartment. you cry. you run. no one questions it.

Newbie: other plan: i get someone to call the theater and say your childhood cat has been found. the one that ran away in third grade. emotional damage = airtight exit.

You: stop. that cat was the love of my life.

Newbie: you posted about him on your story last month. little guy had a bowtie. i was emotionally invested.

You snort—too loud—and immediately hunch down in your seat like that’ll make the screen glow from your phone less obvious.

Newbie: you cry on cue. whisper “mittens?” and make a run for it. it’s foolproof.

You’re halfway through imagining the scene—the shocked gasp, the whisper-shout “my cat’s alive?”, the emotional dash for the exit—

When Caleb nudges your elbow.

You glance up.

He’s already halfway out of his seat, moving past your knees with a quiet “Restroom. Be right back.”

You nod, heart thudding.

He walks a few steps up the aisle.

Then turns back.

Points.

And mouths:

Come.

——————————————————————————

You give it a think.

A good twenty seconds of sitting in the dark like a normal, well-adjusted human being.

You give it another twenty seconds.

And then, because you’re not a normal, well-adjusted human being—but rather a hormone soup in sneakers with a law degree in progress and a barista problem—you lean forward. Over Caleb’s empty seat. Toward Apple Girl.

You tap her shoulder. Try not to make a face about it.

“I’ve gotta—uh… toilet,” you whisper, gesturing vaguely.

She nods, smiles, and turns right back to the screen, already half-hiding her face in Gideon’s shoulder. He shifts to accommodate her like it’s second nature. Like he’s done this before.

You stand. Walk.

Up the aisle. Up. Up.

Until the murmur of the film and the wet crunch of popcorn fade into hallway silence.

The corridor’s empty now. All the theaters filled, all the energy pulled inward. The outside hush feels sacred somehow—too still for what’s happening inside your chest.

And there he is.

Leaning against the wall outside the screening room, one foot propped up, head tilted back like he’s inspecting the ceiling for moral guidance. Or modeling for a poster called Handsome: A Study in Contradictions.

Your breath catches. Hard.

He hears it—of course he does—and looks down, violet eyes catching yours like a net. And his whole face lights up.

“You came,” he says, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like he wasn’t the one who summoned you.

You try not to combust. “Honestly? I was about to fake a phone call and bolt. So thanks for the assist.”

He grins. “You were gonna ditch me? After I brought you candy?”

You roll your eyes, already regretting everything about your existence.

Then he adds, completely straight-faced:

“Was the hallway always this gorgeous, or did you just walk into it?”

You actually choke. “Caleb.”

“What?”

“That was corny enough to get you arrested.”

“I like to think it’s part of my charm.”

“Charm should be regulated.”

Caleb steps in a little closer, one brow arched like he’s waiting for the citation. “You look good.”

You breathe through it. The necklace against your chest—cool against skin that feels anything but. You’re wearing a piece of him and trying not to short-circuit.

“Thanks,” you say, as steadily as possible. “So does your… friend date.”

That pulls him up short—not offended, just thoughtful.

“She is my friend,” he says. “So is Gideon. We had plans—me and them—and I thought… I don’t know. I wanted you to be part of it too.”

“Oh,” you say. Quiet. Not bitter, just… small.

“But yeah,” he adds, slower now. “I should’ve said something. I didn’t think it’d feel weird, but… it does. You okay?”

You nod. Not because it’s entirely true. But because he’s asking.

His gaze dips. “Sour Patch contraband?” he asks, stepping even closer. And before you can stop him, his hand is already in your pocket. His actual hand. In your actual jacket. Warm fingers brushing yours as he blindly fishes for a candy like this is completely normal.

You freeze, every nerve ending on high alert. His knuckles graze the edge of your palm. He finds a candy, plucks it out, slow and triumphant.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who’d ration,” he says, biting into a blue one like he’s auditioning for a very specific kind of commercial. “Best flavor,” he adds around it, smug—then, still chewing, tips his head a little closer.

“Mmf—wanna half?” he offers mid-bite, voice garbled, mouth still full like he only half-thought it through.

And before you can even react—before your brain can register if this is a kiss setup or just him being the human embodiment of a heart attack—he’s already finished the damn thing. Swallowed it. Smiling.

“You were texting the newbie, right?”

You blink. “What?”

His grin tilts a little softer. “Heh. Kinda figured. You always text fast when you’re spiraling.”

Cheeks flare, heat rising fast, but he doesn’t let the moment stretch too long. Doesn’t press. Just stands there like a break in the storm. Then, quieter:

“Don’t go. Just stay, okay?”

And there it is. No teasing this time. No grin. Just that flicker of honesty that makes your ribs ache.

You nod once.

And he exhales—relieved.

A second passes. Then another.

And then—without asking—he steps closer.

Fingers brushing the fabric at your collarbone, Caleb gently tugs the chain out from where it hides under your shirt. The charm catches the light between you, cool silver against his warm fingers.

He glances at it. Then at you.

“Nice necklace,” he says, tucking it gently over your shirt. “You should show it off.”

Simple. Soft. Almost offhand. But his fingers linger just a beat too long. Then he sets it down carefully—right at the center of your chest, on top of the shirt where it’s visible now. Where it stays.

Your breath hitches—too obvious, too fast.

And when he steps back, he gives you the tiniest smile, and says, “Come on. Movie’s probably killed three people already.”

You hesitate. “It’ll look weird if we walk in together.”

He backs toward the door, already pushing it open. “Don’t care.”

It shouldn’t make your stomach drop like that.

But it does.

You hustle in after him, and your seats—of course—are still in perfect decapitation-viewing alignment. You slide in, settle. Caleb takes his seat next to you like nothing happened. Like you weren’t just unraveling in a hallway over his fingers touching yours.

The screen flashes.

Apple Girl jumps—literally screams—at the sudden jolt of sound, burying her face in Caleb’s shoulder. He pats her back. Comforting. Familiar.

Your stomach flips.

This. This is his idea of a sandwich.

You on one side. Her on the other. Emotional garnish optional.

Nope.

You straighten.

Put on your courtroom face.

Sink lower into your seat like you’re entirely unbothered by the murder montage flashing across the screen. Every time you flinch, you do it with lawyer-level restraint. No gasps. No jumps. Just tight jaw and narrowed eyes. You’re so composed it’s almost insulting.

Because Caleb may be smug and sweet and dangerously good at whispering in your ear,

But he is not getting a scared little horror sandwich tonight.

No way.

——————————————————————————

Part 12

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Heeeere it is! I hope you had as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it. I’m still having an absolute blast with this series—thank you so much for sticking with it. Sorry for the slight pause between updates; life got a bit in the way. But hang tight—more chaos, kisses, and courtroom-worthy emotional damage are on the way. I’m already deep into the next chapters!

[alltimecharlo]

Thank you for all your amazing prompts!! I’m obsessed 🤩 food for thought- maybe Will and Mack developed an A/O bond or a soul-bond without realizing it this past season and it’s so weird but they just both REALLY feel like shit at worlds and like they are sure it’s unrelated but their chests feel like something is trying to crawl out of it trying to get back to the other one?? So weird.

thank you!!! love this prompt!! so cute and so them lol 🩵 fic under the cut!

Will tells himself it’s just the time zones.

It’s got to be that. The jet lag, the altitude, the weird hotel beds that never seem to support his back quite right, even though he’s not thirty or whatever ancient age Mack keeps pretending he is when he’s being dramatic. Team USA’s schedule is brutal—two practices a day, media stuff, team meetings—and the food doesn’t taste right. The protein shakes are the wrong texture. Nothing sits right in his stomach. And there’s this constant, aching pull in his chest.

He doesn’t tell anyone, of course. He’s not about to be That Guy who whines about feeling weird at Worlds. They need the points. He needs to prove he belongs. So he white-knuckles it through practices, grits his teeth through meals, and tries to ignore the way his skin feels too tight, like something inside him is straining at the seams.

It gets worse when he sees the Canadians play.

Specifically—when he sees Mack.

Mack’s lighting up the tournament, of course. Top line. Winging for Crosby like it’s nothing. Racking up points and screen time and the praise of basically every analyst in existence. Will should be used to it by now, watching Mack skate like his blades are extensions of his thoughts. But it does something strange to him. Makes the air too thin. Makes the tightness in his chest go sharp.

Every time Mack scores, it feels like something is snapping just behind Will’s ribs.

It doesn’t make sense. Will’s not some possessive freak. He’s not one of those alphas who sniffs around everything they think belongs to them. He’s been so good about this. About Mack. About not fucking it up.

But lately it’s like his body is betraying him.

He wakes up sweating. Dreams about Mack’s voice. About Mack’s scent, even though he’s miles away. He finds himself checking his phone every ten minutes like Mack’s going to text. They do text, sometimes, but not like usual. Not the same cadence. Not the usual stupid memes and late-night bullshit. Mack’s busy. Will gets it.

And still. It’s unbearable.

⸻

Mack, apparently, is also not doing well.

Will finds this out because Cutter tells him so, very casually, while they’re walking back from a team breakfast.

“Celebrini looked like shit last night. You see that post-game interview? He was all clammy.”

Will stops walking. “What?”

Cutter glances at him. “Relax. Just saying. Guess even wonderboys get tired. He didn’t even go out after, one of my boys told me. Said he had a headache.”

Will’s heart is pounding like a fucking drum. He forces a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Weird.”

But it’s not weird. Or it is, but not in a normal way.

Will gets back to his room and paces until his phone’s in his hand without him even thinking about it. He hits call.

Mack answers in two rings.

“Hey,” Mack says. He sounds wrecked. Voice hoarse. “You okay?”

Will stares at the screen. His pulse skips. “I was gonna ask you that. Cutter said you bailed last night.”

Mack groans softly and flops back against his pillows. Will can hear it. The rustle of sheets. “Yeah. Felt like shit. Thought it was a flu but there’s no fever. Just—tight. Weird.”

“Chest tight?”

Mack goes quiet.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Like I’m—I don’t know. Missing something.”

Will swallows. He’s suddenly hyperaware of the way his skin itches. The way his whole body feels off-kilter, like he’s been leaning toward something that isn’t there.

“You ever…you ever read about spontaneous bond formation?” Will asks, heart hammering.

Mack’s face freezes on screen. Then: “You think—?”

Will nods, slowly. “I think we might’ve…accidentally bonded.”

They stare at each other.

“That night,” Mack says. His voice is soft. “After playoffs. When we—”

Will nod again. He remembers. The heat. The press of skin. The overwhelming need.

They hadn’t meant to. There hadn’t been a rut or a heat. It was just—them.

Mack exhales. “Fuck.”

Will’s chest aches. “I miss you so bad it feels like I can’t breathe right.”

Mack’s eyes soften. “Me too.”

They sit like that for a while, just staring.

Eventually Mack says, “I don’t care if this is weird. I want it. I want you.”

Will’s throat is tight. He nods. “Me too. So bad.”

Mack shifts, curling around his pillow like he’s trying to pretend it’s Will. “I don’t think I can do another week like this.”

“We’re gonna see each other in the Stockholm,” Will promises. “Soon. Just hold on.”

Mack gives him a wobbly smile. “You’re gonna score for me, aren’t you.”

Will snorts. “Try and stop me.”

Mack laughs. Even over a screen, even with everything frayed and raw, it eases something in Will’s chest.

They’re not imagining this.

They’re theirs.

And they’re gonna be okay.

♡

[redsrooftopprincess]

Hi! How are you? Hope you are doing well! I didn’t see any mention of you ask box is open or not so take your time to answer this! ♥️

Id like to ask for a scenario or Headcanon with the tmnt boys x reader about a situation that happened to me recently, I was venting about work with a friend and she out of the blue just “can I take a picture of you? You look so pretty right now” and proceeded to tell me she felt like she was living the “bla bla bla place name, back story stuff” meme? (If you are not aware it’s basically a meme where someone is going on a full rant and the other can only see them through being pretty and ethereal, even when talking about something super serious 😂) I busted out laughing when she mentioned, I thought about the boys going through the same would be super funny, Maybe their crush doing mundane things and they are literally heartened for it?

If it’s too complicated to do allllllll of them I’d like ask for this to be a donnie scenario then 🫶 I know you are a ralphie girlie (which I adore your stuff for him like it’s so good??? Seriously I’m eating it up your recent posts) but if you feel comfy doing it all or just Donnie it will be more than welcomed!

thank you and hope you have a good day!

I'm unfamiliar with the meme, but I think it's from the LEGO movie? Anyway, I hope this is okay. 😂

Distraction

Donnie x reader

No warnings, just fluff

It didn't take much, and it was so damn frustrating. Especially while he was working.

Donnie restarted the sequence again from the beginning. He needed to get these disks calibrated before the next time they tangled with the foot, but for SOME reason YOU exist, and your soul purpose in life is to torture him.

A scent, a sound, the smallest indication of your existence pulls ALL his focus.

Right now, you're in the living room watching a movie with Mike and Raph, and Donnie just has this *last thing* to finish before he can disengage and join you, but now you're laughing and he's lost count again.

He sighs, ripping his glasses from his face and rubbing his eyes. Replacing his glasses, he glares at the lab's door. He knows he should close it, of course he should close it, closing it is the only way he's going to get anything done.

But the door was in view of the couch and you'd think that was rude, right? He didn't want to be rude...

No. You'd get it. Especially if he could finish up quickly and join you for the rest of the movie. Okay, he was gonna close the door. He nods resolutely to himself before scowling.

An IQ of 187 and somehow you're constantly turning him into an idiot.

He sets down the disk he's working on and stands, walking over to the door. He hears you laugh again and makes the mistake of looking up at you.

Whatever movie you were watching forgotten, Mike and Raph are listening to you tell a story about something that happened at work this week.

It's inane, something about an argument in the break room over the new coffee machines, but the colorful fairy lights scattered about the lair have caught in your hair and eyes, and he is trapped in your spectrum.

It occurs to him that you can't see it. The depth of you. The reds and pinks in your skin when it flushes with laughter, the blue cableing of your veins beneath. Tetrachromacy is an advantage that he's not sure he ever fully appreciated until just now. And it breaks his heart.

There has to be a way to show you. There's light filtering technology that help people with colorblindness. It couldn't be that hard to retrofit a pair of those glasses to fit custom lenses. He'd need to examine your eyes specifically, of course, to ensure his measurements are correct, but he already has the glass grinding equipment, and people are constantly throwing away frames, and it takes him a moment to realize that the room has gone quiet.

He blinks and his eyes refocus to find the three of you staring at him, standing dumbly in the doorway, staring at you.

"You good bro?" Mikey asks.

"Yeah," he squeaks, before clearing his throat, "Yeah," he corrects, "I'm good. I'm just gonna, uh... finish up in here. I'll be out in a few."

You smile at him and he nearly trips over... the door? God, he's a mess. He closes it quickly before he can make an even bigger ass of himself.

He walks back over to his current project and sits back down. He stares blankly at the laptop and scattered pieces of tech for a few moments before sighing heavily and pushing everything aside.

He pulls out a notebook and starts sketching a pair of glasses.

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @footninja @daedric-sorceress

[yunholic-jongholic]

Love In a Divorce [Part 6] | C.JH x Reader

SUMMARY | In a strained 10-year marriage, you and your husband decide to get a divorce due to growing tensions. While meeting with your divorce attorney, you unexpectedly develop feelings for him. As the divorce process unfolds, you find yourself in an intimate relationship with the attorney, complicating the situation as you navigate your separation from your ex-husband.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MINORS DNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | Explicit Content, NSFW, SMUT, PDA (some), Cursing, Fingering, Orgasms, Marking, Unprotected Sex (Don't do it), Creampie, Slight Breeding Kink, Pregnancy-Mentioning, (Might edit, because I might have missed some)...

WORD COUNT | 3k

AUTHOR NOTE | This is the last part, I have another Jongho story on the way, it's a bit darker and angsty than this one is. But I am glad you enjoyed my first series (based on a dang meme my group chat found on twitter) lmao. I hope you enjoy this last chapter. :)

TAG LIST | @blackandgreenandblue @mingisleftnipple @kyunlov

•

A couple of years had passed since you sold your house and moved in with Jongho. The two of you had built a life together—one filled with laughter, love, and late nights spent tangled up in each other’s arms.

But lately, something felt... off. Jongho had been acting more nervous and stressed than usual, his shoulders tense and his smile a little too forced. You watched him pace around the living room, his phone constantly in his hand, his mind clearly somewhere else.

You tried to shake off the uneasy feeling, convincing yourself it was just work getting to him. After all, his job could be demanding, and long cases always took a toll on him. But as the days went on, his anxiety seemed to grow, and you couldn’t help but worry.

That evening, as he sat next to you on the couch, you reached over and gently placed your hand on his arm. “Jongho... are you okay? You’ve been acting... different lately. Is work stressing you out?” you asked softly, your eyes searching his for answers.

He looked at you, his face softening as he took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Yeah... it’s just... work’s been a lot,” he mumbled, giving you a small, reassuring smile. But the way his hand trembled slightly in yours told you there was more to the story than he was letting on.

Worried about Jongho, you picked up your phone and dialed Yeosang, hoping his friends could help get him out of the house and take his mind off whatever was bothering him. But before you could even finish the conversation, Jongho appeared in the doorway, his expression soft yet unusually tense.

“Hey... I was thinking,” he began, his voice hesitant, “Would you want to go on a little getaway tonight? Just us... somewhere in the city. We could get a nice hotel and go out for dinner... something special.”

Your eyes widened in surprise; the phone still pressed to your ear as you processed his words. You quickly wrapped up your call with Yeosang, your heart fluttering at the idea of a spontaneous escape with him. It wasn’t like Jongho to plan something like this on a whim, but you couldn’t deny how excited it made you feel.

“That sounds perfect,” you replied, a warm smile spreading across your face. “I’d love to.”

Jongho’s shoulders visibly relaxed, his eyes softening as relief washed over him. He gave you a shy, almost nervous smile before pulling you into a hug, his arms holding you just a little tighter than usual. You felt his heartbeat against yours, rapid and unsteady, and the unease you’d been feeling these past few days crept back in.

But as he pulled back and looked at you with that familiar adoration in his eyes, you decided to push your worries aside. Whatever was bothering him, you were sure he’d tell you when he was ready. For now, you just wanted to enjoy this unexpected adventure together.

The drive to the hotel was quiet—almost too quiet. You glanced over at Jongho, noticing the way his hands gripped the steering wheel just a little too tightly, his jaw clenched as he focused on the road. He was lost in his thoughts, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a quiet tension you couldn’t quite decipher.

You wanted to ask him if he was okay, to reach out and ease whatever was weighing on him, but you held back, not wanting to push him. Instead, you tried to convince yourself that it was just work stress getting to him.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, Jongho helped you with your bags, his smile warm but his eyes distant. He checked you both in quickly, his voice soft as he spoke to the receptionist. Even then, you could sense his nervousness, his shoulders tight as if he were bracing himself for something.

Once you entered the room, you took in the beautiful view of the city lights sprawling out before you. The room was luxurious, more extravagant than you’d expected, with a plush king-sized bed and a window that stretched from floor to ceiling.

Jongho set your bags down and let out a deep breath, his shoulders dropping as if a weight had been lifted. But his eyes remained distant, his gaze fixed on the city lights.

You stood beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Jongho’s hand slid into yours, his fingers curling around yours gently, his grip warm and comforting.

He glanced down at you, his eyes softening as a small smile played on his lips. “So... are you ready for dinner?” he asked, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual, as if memorizing every detail.

You looked up at him, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite read anticipation, maybe even a touch of nervousness. But his smile was genuine, his thumb brushing softly over the back of your hand.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you replied, your voice warm and light. “Lead the way.”

He squeezed your hand gently, his shoulders relaxing as he pulled you closer. “Good. I’ve got something special planned tonight.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in his voice, your heart fluttering with curiosity. Whatever was on his mind, you knew tonight was going to be unforgettable.

Dinner was perfect—almost too perfect. The restaurant was beautifully decorated, with soft lighting and gentle music playing in the background. Jongho had chosen a cozy corner table, away from the noise, giving you both a sense of intimacy as you enjoyed your meal.

But as the night went on, you couldn’t help but notice his growing nervousness. His smile was just a little too forced, his laughter a little too quick, and his eyes kept darting away every time you tried to meet his gaze.

“Jongho... are you sure everything’s okay?” you asked, your voice soft with concern as you reached across the table, your fingers brushing against his. “Do you need anything?”

He blinked, his eyes widening for a moment before he quickly shook his head. “No... no, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice a little too quick, a little too high. He forced a smile, squeezing your hand. “I just... want tonight to be perfect for you.”

Your heart softened, and you returned his smile, letting his hand linger in yours. “It already is,” you reassured him, hoping to ease his nerves. But even as he relaxed slightly, you could see the tension still lingering in his shoulders, his fingers tapping restlessly against the table.

You didn’t push him any further, deciding to let him share whatever was bothering him when he was ready. But as the night went on, you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of anticipation, wondering just what was on his mind.

You both were out walking, the cool evening breeze wrapping around you as you gazed at the dazzling city lights. The view was breathtaking, but nothing compared to the warmth you felt just being beside Jongho. His presence made everything more beautiful.

Lost in thought, you turned to say something to him—only to find him gone. Your heart skipped a beat, panic surging through you as you looked around frantically. But then you spotted him, just a few steps behind you, down on one knee.

Your eyes widened in shock, your breath catching in your throat as you realized what was happening. Jongho looked up at you, his eyes glistening with emotion, his face a mixture of love and nervousness.

“Y/N...” he began softly, his voice wavering just a little. “I want you to know how much I love you. Every day, every moment... I fall for you even more. I want to be by your side forever. To take care of you, to love you, to make you smile... always.”

He opened a small velvet box, revealing a sparkling ring that caught the city lights perfectly, reflecting a thousand tiny stars. “Will you marry me?”

Your heart raced, tears welling up as his words sank in. You couldn’t speak, your voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, so you did the only thing you could—you nodded, your head bobbing up and down frantically. “Yes... Yes! Of course, yes!”

Relief flooded his face, his shoulders relaxing as he let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. He slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking just slightly as he stood up.

Before he could even fully straighten, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a fierce, tearful kiss. His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you close as he kissed you back, pouring every ounce of love and relief into that one perfect moment.

The city lights sparkled behind you, but nothing shined brighter than the joy in his eyes—or the ring on your finger.

“Is this what’s really been stressing you out? Trying to find a way to propose to me?” you teased between kisses, your voice light and playful as you pulled back just enough to see his face.

Jongho’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, his eyes darting away as he let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah... maybe,” he admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was just... I was worried you’d say no. I know you went through so much before, and... I was scared you wouldn’t want to go through another marriage.”

Your heart melted at his honesty, your fingers tightening around his as you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Jongho... I could never say no to you,” you whispered, your voice tender and full of affection. “You’ve been so wonderful to me... more than I ever thought I deserved.”

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You felt his lips linger there, his breath warm against your hair. Then, he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“So... you’d never say no to me?” he hummed, his voice low and teasing.

You looked up at him, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Of course not... why—”

Before you could finish your sentence, his gaze flicked back to the hotel, his smile growing sly. Then, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Then how about we head back to the room... and celebrate our engagement properly?”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, heat rushing to your cheeks as his meaning became clear. You felt his fingers tighten around your waist, his body pressing just a little closer as his breath tickled your neck.

Your heart skipped a beat, and a playful smile curved at your lips. “I’d never say no to that,” you whispered back, your voice laced with anticipation. Jongho had a smirk curl on his lips as he leaded you back to the hotel room.

You both didn't waste any time. Jongho lifted you up and threw you on the bed, now hovering over you. You snaked your arms around his neck and caressed his face softly feeling how warm his cheeks are.

"My soon-to-be husband looks to handsome tonight..." you whisper. He stares into your eyes and grabs your hand from his face. bringing it down. You notice his eyes are now dark with lust and need. Jongho smashes his lips against yours, hungrily kissing you before sliding his tongue in which causes a shock wave to send shivers down your spine.

You moan at the feeling as both of you make out. Jongho is first to pull away and he breaths out heavily staring into your eyes. He starts to unbutton his shirt, and you pull your clothes off. You help him unzip his pants and pulling off his clothes.

Jongho gets on the bed with you and looks at you before speaking. "I want to try to please you this way..." he hums as you feel two fingers brush against your folds. You felt one finger enter in between your folds causing you to moan softly. He watches your reaction and smirks.

"So wet and so soft..." he whispers teasing you. You huff out at his response and continue moaning as he starts moving inside you.

"Oh my god..." you moan softly grabbing his arm looking into his eyes completely helplessly. You soon felt another finger enter you causing you to throw your head back moaning his name. He smirks enjoying your reactions, soon pressing his thumb against your clit rubbing circles.

"Jongho please!" You cry out feeling your entire body melt on the bed and feeling a bubble forming in your lower stomach. His other hand grabs onto your wrists pinning them over your head.

"Fuck!" You curse feeling extreme pleasure as he starts fucking you harder with two fingers deep in your soaked cunt. It wasn't long until you were thrown over the edge and moaned loudly squirting on his fingers. Jongho was satisfied how he treated you. Your legs were shaking, out of breath panting hard and whimpered as he pulled his two fingers out which was covered in your slick.

"So hot..." he whispers now ready to do the real thing with you. You can't believe he made you lose your mind with just 2 fingers. Jongho lifted your legs over his waist and slowly pressed the tip against your folds, ready to go in and destroy you.

----------------------------------

You felt Jongho's cock slide inside you very easily since you were already extremely wet. Jongho didn't waste any time, already thrusting in and out of you causing you to moan in pure bliss. You don't know why this time felt different, but it most likely had to do with Jongho now being your fiancé.

Jongho gripped your palm pinning it on the bed interlocking your fingers together. You moaned feeling his shaft sliding in and out of you.

"I love you so much!" You moan out feeling his palm pressing your palm down harder. Your other hand rests on his chest digging your nails into him.

"Fuck." He cursed, fucking you deeply into the mattress. You felt your stomach tighten inside feeling extreme pleasure. Jongho went down and kissed your lips roughly almost biting on your lips hungrily. You moaned deep into the kiss arching your back feeling him hit your sensitive spot. One your pulled away from the kiss and cried out as he was now slamming into your sensitive spot. You felt you were going to have another orgasm coming up soon.

"Holy fuck Jongho!" You cursed breathing hot and heavy. You saw him smirk at you before going back to sloppily make out with you. You couldn't take it anymore and started squirming underneath him until he pinned your waist down aggressively. You were sure there would be bruises tomorrow. you felt his lips travel down your chin to your neck nibbling and sucking on the skin.

"I can't take it... anymore!" you whimpered feeling tears form in your eyes feeling extremely over stimulated. Jongho whispers in your ear groaning as he kept pounding into you.

"Fuck... I want to impregnate you..." He groans, his thrusts getting sloppier. You both were moaning and sweating like crazy. You have never heard Jongho say that which immediately tipped you over the edge as you squirted again this time on his cock.

"Fuck!" You curse legs trembling again until you now felt Jongho soon coming inside you. You felt hot liquid fill you up and his thrusts start slowing down. You were breathing extremely heavily, chest puffing out and you felt the mattress below you completely soaked.

"Holy shit..." Jongho cursed realizing how crazy this sex session was. He pulled out and pulled you onto his lap to hold you.

"Did you really mean it by you wanted to impregnant me...?" You asked genuinely curious. His face turned deep red, and he looked away for a second.

"I can stop taking my birth control..." You whisper causing his face to heat up.

"I didn't mean to say that I am so sorry..." He apologized, he commented how he was too in the moment with you and was only thinking with his cock.

"If you want, we can wait for a while and try again to get me pregnant." you tease causing Jongho to try to shut the conversation down, but you laugh at his reaction.

"I'm serious though, maybe when we are married in the future... I don't mind starting a family with you... I want to be with you forever." You mention resting your head on his chest as you were slowly falling asleep. Jongho was silent but held you towards him.

“I would also love to start a family with you, Y/N,” Jongho whispered, his voice tender as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. His arms wrapped around you securely, his fingers gently rubbing circles on your shoulder as you snuggled closer to him.

You rested your hand on his, absentmindedly rubbing your ring finger against his, feeling the cool metal of the engagement ring that now symbolized forever. You couldn’t help but smile as you admired the rings on both of your fingers, their sparkle reflecting the promise of a lifetime together.

Looking up at him, your eyes softened, love overflowing as you whispered, “I still can’t believe I’m going to marry my divorce attorney.” You teased, a playful grin on your lips.

Jongho chuckled, his eyes crinkling as his smile widened. “I guess I was always meant to be by your side... in every way possible.” His voice was warm, his fingers brushing through your hair as he leaned down to capture your lips in one last sweet, lingering kiss.

You hummed contently, the warmth of his touch and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear lulling you to sleep. You curled up against his chest, his arms tightening around you protectively as you drifted off, feeling safe and loved in his embrace.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you heard his voice, soft and gentle. “I love you... and I always will.”

And with that, you fell asleep in his arms, dreaming of the beautiful future waiting for you both.

•

Brb sobbing, I AM SO SOFT RIGHT NOW I NEED THIS MAN SO BAD. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this small Jongho Series. :) I have another one already in the works for part 1 of the next Jongho series :3 Please be tuned for that. After the first part I will open Tag List for y'all (it will be longer) and a TON of smut and angst.

[bm571158]

Free Now LN4 (Part 42)

"Hey, Flo." Lottie answered the phone, balancing it between her shoulder and her ear as she moved around the kitchen. "What's up?"

"Hey, sorry I just... mum wanted me to call and ask you if you've heard from Lando this week?" Flo asked nervously. "I told her not to ask but she won't leave me alone. I'm sorry."

The two of them hadn't really spoken about what had happened between Lottie and Lando at Flo's birthday party. By the time that Lottie and Lando had got out of bed the following day Flo had disappeared off outside to sort the horses out and Lottie and Lando had gone their separate ways. No one had mentioned it since. Lottie hadn't wanted to bring it up and remind Flo of what she'd walked in on, and Flo hadn't wanted to bring it up because she still had no idea what was going on between the two of them.

Not long after Lando had then headed out to Singapore for the next race, getting his head down as he focused on getting some much needed points to put him back in contention for the drivers title, and Lottie had gone back to working with her physio and getting ready to get back to work doing some coaching for the first time since her accident.

"No, I haven't." Lottie answered. "What's wrong?"

"No, it's nothing." Flo answered quickly. "He's just... he's been spending a lot of time at MTC and I know Singapore wasn't a disaster but it wasn't great either. I think mums just a bit worried he's about to go off the rails or something. She keeps trying to go to Monaco to check on him but he's never bloody there, but he won't come here either. I don't know, never mind... I suppose we were just wondering, you know.... Sometimes he talks to you when he's hiding from us."

"If I speak to him I'll let him know?" Lottie offered, pouring her coffee into a mug.

"Please." Flo agreed. "How are you? Is it all going okay?"

"Yeah." Lottie nodded. "My first day back coaching at the end of the week. I'm really excited about it actually. I'm headed out for a practice drive in a bit to check my car still works and I can remember how to drive it."

"Good." Flo smiled. "Come back and visit again soon? I miss you, and you can drive yourself here now so no excuses."

"Yeah, I will." Lottie agreed. "Soon... you can't miss me that much anyway. It's only been like three weeks since your birthday!"

"You know what I mean." Flo huffed.

"Alright, well... I've got to go, but I'll speak to you soon, alright?" Lottie offered.

"Alright, see you soon." Flo told her, ending the call.

Lottie tossed the phone down on the counter, picking up the coffee and heading for the sofa, Lando sitting there giving her an amused look.

"You do know that she's going to kill you when she finds out, right?" He laughed, taking his coffee from Lottie. "Like I don't know if you've experienced that kind of anger from Flo, but it's probably going to get violent. I might die. You're probably safe because she loves you but me? I'm definitely getting the brunt of it."

Lottie rolled her eyes, flopping down on the sofa beside him. "Don't, I already feel bad. I just... I like it just being us."

She hasn't necessarily meant to keep it a secret from Flo. After they'd gone their separate ways following Flo's birthday, Lottie and Lando had fallen into something that she didn't really know how to explain. It started as texts back and forth, funny videos and meme's being shared and quickly turned into phone calls and FaceTimes that would last hours. Then, when he'd come back over from Monaco to go to MTC he'd turned up on her doorstep uninvited and since then he'd just kept coming back.

It was easy, relaxed and comfortable between the two of them. In that little cottage in the middle of nowhere, no one was looking at them. They'd never actually discussed it properly, but they seemed to have come to some kind of unspoken agreement that whatever it was, they were keeping it between the two of them for now at least.

The first time Flo had called her when Lando was there Lottie had panicked when her friend heard the noise of Lando talking in the background and lied and told her that she had someone in to fix her heating. She had no idea if Flo believed her, but she'd not brought it up again. She should've just told Flo the truth at the time, but part of her was scared that Flo was going to give her a whole lecture on why she shouldn't even be thinking about getting back together with Lando. So, she'd lied. And then she'd had to keep on lying every time that Flo called after.

"I'm not saying we have to tell her." He said softly. "I'm happy with it just being the two of us, I just want you to be happy and for us to be together, I'm just saying she's going to absolutely lose her shit when she does find out."

"I'll tell her, at some point." Lottie agreed, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her. "You need to call your mum and convince her that you're not losing your mind stressing about the race. Or she's going to get on a flight to Monaco and find out that you're not there."

"She knows I'm not there." Lando pointed out. "She just doesn't know I'm here... they saw the photos of me at the airport so I told them I was going to MTC because there was a problem with the car." He'd been pretty proud of his lie that he'd made up on the spot, but Lottie looked less convinced.

"I know you think you came up with the most amazing cover story ever but all you've done is stress the poor woman out that you're freaking out about the race." She sighed.

"I mean I am... sort of." He admitted. "It'll be fine, I'll call her."

Lottie gave him a pointed look, waiting for him to get his phone out.

"Wait, you mean right now?" He groaned. "I thought you wanted to go out now?"

"I need to drink my coffee first." Lottie pointed out. "So while I'm doing that, you can put your mum out of her misery and let her know that you're okay."

Lando knew there was absolutely no point in trying to argue with her, so he pulled his phone out and dialled his mum's number, holding the phone up to his ear.

"Hi, Mum." He greeted her as she picked up the phone. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine but where have you been?!" Cisca demanded. "I've been trying to get hold of you for two days."

"Sorry, I've been busy at MTC." He lied. "Is everything okay?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you?" Cisca said. "I don't think I've ever known you spend quite so much time over there. What's wrong with the car? Is that bad?"

"Nah, I've been filling it up with rocks while they're not looking to make sure it's heavy enough. Don't want to get disqualified again." Lando joked. "Seriously Mum, it's all good. No need to worry."

"I don't know if I believe you." Cisca frowned. "Why don't you come and visit us before you go?"

"Honestly it's all good." He repeated. "I'll see you soon, alright? I've got to go."

"Alright." Cisca agreed reluctantly. "Take care of yourself, and call me. Okay?"

"Okay." He agreed, ending the call before turning to Lottie. "There, happy now?"

"Happy." She grinned, leaning in to kiss him.

"Good." He smiled back as she pulled away. "Now, drink that coffee and we need to see if you can still remember how to drive."

It was the last hurdle in completely regaining her independence, and one that she'd been a little bit reluctant to try just in case it went wrong. But, if she was going to get back to work and back to normal, she needed to do it. Lando had been surprised to hear that she hadn't tried it at all when she told him on the phone one night, and had immediately suggested that she wait until he was there and could go with her.

As the two of them sat in the front of her car parked in the driveway with the engine running though the nervous energy radiating off her was starting to make him feel a little bit nervous.

"Alright..." he said slowly. "Just push the clutch down and make sure it's comfortable and your leg is strong enough to start with. If not you're going to stall if before we even go anywhere."

She went quiet, adjusting her seat for a minute and then experimentally pushing the pedal down a couple of times.

"Feel okay?" He asked, watching her face carefully for any sign it was uncomfortable.

"I think so." Lottie nodded, reaching over to buckle up her seatbelt. "Ready?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He joked.

"I don't know... you've not experienced my driving yet." Lottie grimaced as she put the car into gear and slowly began to creep down the driveway towards the road.

"You'll be fine, there's like no traffic around here for miles. You'll have the whole road to yourself." He reassured her. "And if you don't think you can do it then we'll stop, swap around and I'll drive us home. No big deal."

"Thank you." Lottie mumbled, still gripping the steering wheel tightly as she headed out onto the road, heart hammering in her chest.

"You can do it, I promise." He repeated softly, hand dropping on to her thigh. "That's it, come on... you need to change gear now."

He'd been incredibly patient as she'd crawled around the village at snail pace, stalling the engine repeatedly every time she arrived at a turning. They had eventually made it back to her house in one piece and Lando had declared that she was more than capable of driving herself around. "I should know, I'm the expert!" He'd joked.

He spent another couple of days at her place, the two of them spending their nights wrapped up on the sofa watching crappy movies on Netflix that reminded her of those first few nights on Flo's sofa.

But then he'd had to head back to Monaco, ready to travel out to America for the next race. As he'd stood in her hallway, bag on his shoulder ready to leave he'd stopped, reaching into his pocket for a moment, a hesitant look crossing his face.

"I uh... I'm going to give you this back..." he said slowly, and she couldn't work out what it was to begin with, but as he dropped it into her hand she realised it was the season long paddock pass that he'd had arranged for her, before everything had fallen apart. "I'm not saying you have to use it, I know how you feel about all the fans and the press... I get it... it's just, if you ever feel like coming then you've got it. I miss having you there with me."

"I can't, Lando." She mumbled. "I want to be there for you, I just..." the thought of going back into that made her feel sick. It was fine when it was just the two of them in their little bubble, it was easy to forget about the rest of the world and for the two of them just to be happy, but stepping back into the paddock felt like it was going to bring back everything that had sent her running in the first place.

"I know." He said softly, dropping the pass into her to her outstretched hand and closing her fingers around it before wrapping his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But one day, one day it'll be the right time to tell everyone and you can be there to cheer me on again."

"One day." She agreed, lifting her head up to kiss him. "Good luck, I'll be cheering for you from here. You're going to be amazing, I know it."

"I'd better go." He said reluctantly, giving her a lingering kiss.

"Call me when you get there?"

"I will."

****

The knock at the door as she was settling down on the sofa to watch the race was unexpected, and had Lottie getting to her feet reluctantly to go and see who it was.

"Flo?" She looked at her friend blankly as she opened the front door. "What are you doing here?"

"I decided to come and watch the race with you." Flo announced stepping inside. "Don't try and tell me you're not watching. You always watch."

"And you couldn't call or text me to tell me you were coming?" Lottie asked.

"Well I could've done, but you would've told me you were busy and come up with some kind of weird excuse like you keep doing. So I thought I'd use the element of surprise." Flo told her, already making herself comfortable on the sofa. "Come on, sit! Why are you looking at me like that?"

Lottie sat down on the sofa beside Flo, fingers drumming nervously on the back of her phone as she watched the build up to the race on the screen. She'd been expecting Lando to call just before Flo knocked on the door. He'd taken to calling her just before he got in the car, said that five minutes of listening to her chat absolute nonsense to him helped to clear his head, but she wasn't entirely sure how she was going to explain that to Flo without her giving her one of those looks.

Right on cue her phone started buzzing, Flo giving Lottie a curious look as she scurried off making a mumbled excuse about being back in a minute and went into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

"Hey." She answered the phone to him.

"Hey." He replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"You ready to go?" She asked him.

"I am." He nodded. "It's going to be a good one, that's what I keep telling myself."

"Positive thinking, I like it." She smiled. "You'll be great, you can so do this. And then when you get back we can celebrate."

"You're watching?" He asked quietly.

"I am." She told him. "I told you I would be here cheering you on."

He was quiet for a moment, and she could hear all the noise of the garage in the background. "I've got to go." He told her reluctantly.

"Go get 'em!" She encouraged. "You can do it. I love you."

"Love you." He smiled, ending the call.

As Lottie walked back into the room Flo gave her a questioning look but didn't say anything until she sat down.

"Nice hoodie." Flo smirked, and Lottie suddenly looked down, releasing she was wearing one of Lando's hoodies that he'd left behind. It was cosy and still smelled like him, so she'd wrapped herself up in it without a thought. She could feel herself blushing as she tried to think of what she was supposed to say in response to that.

"I... I should give it back to him, really." Lottie mumbled, relieved to see that the cars were beginning to head onto the grid and perhaps the racing might start just in time so save her from too much interrogation from Flo.

She should've just told Flo, she had no idea how she'd ended up doing all this sneaking around. But the whole thing felt so incredibly new and fragile still, she was worried the slightest little thing might upset the new found balance- the happiness- that her and Lando had finally managed to find. It made her want to keep it from everyone, even her best friend, in an attempt to keep the happy little bubble in tact.

The race was nail bitting, but a successful one. Lando's P2 finish had helped him to claw his way back up to within a handful of points of max, the lead in the drivers championship now back in sight as they approached the final few races of the season.

The look of relief on his face as he'd stood on the podium, head tipped back as he stood in the sun with the biggest smile on his face... it almost brought a tear to her eye. She was so incredibly proud of him, and it made her wish that she was there to tell him that in person.

All this waiting for the right time... all she was doing was missing out on everything that they could be celebrating right now.

[violettwritess]

Stay m.s

Summary: After a painful breakup, Y/n and Matt struggle with unspoken feelings and uncertainty about what comes next.

Warnings: none

Wc: 1k

English is not my first language

Tell me if you like second or third person better:)

There you were, wrapped up in his sweatshirt, your favorite one that he ever gave you, staring at the floor. You weren’t listening, you couldn’t listen, your thoughts were a mess, and so was your heart.

“We can’t be together anymore”

The words cut like a knife, leaving you bleeding, hurting.

“Y/n, are you even listening?”

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked up at him, tears pooling in your eyes, your lip trembling, you opened your mouth, trying to say something, anything, but no words came out, your throat felt so dry, too tight to speak, all you could do was stare at him, at the love of your life, or at least, who you thought was the love of your life.

“I’m sorry, I really am, okay? But it’s the best for both of us. You understand me, right?”

You stayed silent for a few seconds before finally forcing out a response.

“Yeah…”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page”

You looked back down at the floor. How could he care so little? Did he even love you at all? You hugged the sweatshirt closer to your body as he gave you one last glance and left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And just like that, you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore.

Did he even notice that you were wearing his sweatshirt? Did he notice anything at all? You just wanted to say you were sorry, for whatever you did. You just wanted him back. You wanted all those moments back. How could he be gone forever?

~

The days blurred together after that.

Every morning felt the same, waking up, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the ache in your chest to ease. But it never did, your phone stayed silent, his name never lighting up your screen, you tried not to think about it, but his absence sat heavy in the air, filling every empty space he used to occupy.

You hadn’t heard from Nick or Chris either, that stung more than you expected, you thought maybe they’d check in, maybe Chris would send a dumb meme like he used to, or Nick would make some offhanded comment just to see if you’d bite. But they didn’t. No one did.

And still, you caught yourself thinking about Matt more than you should, the way he used to tuck his chin over your head when he hugged you, the way his fingers would tap lightly against your wrist when he was thinking, the way he’d pull you closer in his sleep like he was scared you’d disappear.

Now you had.

You could almost hear his voice in your head, telling you it was for the best, that this was how things were supposed to be, but if that was true, why did it feel so wrong?

You told yourself you wouldn’t call.

But tonight, the weight of it all was unbearable, before you could stop yourself, your fingers hovered over his contact.

Don’t do this.

But your mind and heart told you different things and before you could stop yourself

The phone rang once, twice, then…

“Hello?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat, you hadn’t prepared for this moment, hadn’t planned on hearing his voice again, there was a pause, followed by a soft sigh on the other end.

“Y/n…”

Hearing his voice again made everything feel more real, more painful, you gripped your his sweatshirt tighter around you, your fingers trembling slightly, the silence stretched, thick with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t.

“I don’t even have to stay” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, unsure if you wanted him to hear it, he didn’t answer right away, you wondered if he was thinking the same thing you were, that if you could just go back, just for a little while, maybe you could forget the way everything had fallen apart.

Matt’s voice broke the silence, a little softer this time. “I never wanted things to end like this, Y/n. You know that, right?”

You could feel your chest tighten, the words you’d been holding back threatening to spill over. “Then why did it?” The question came out like a whisper, but it felt heavier than you imagined it would.

Matt didn’t answer right away, there was just the faint sound of his breathing on the other end, like he was searching for the right thing to say, but nothing seemed to fit, and that silence, so thick, so full of unsaid things, was worse than the words that had already been exchanged.

“I don’t know” he finally admitted, his voice cracking just a little. “I thought it was what we needed, but I hate it, Y/n. I hate not talking to you, not seeing you” He let out a breath, and you could hear the pain in it.

“I miss you too, but I don’t know how to make it right” The tears that had been threatening to fall finally broke free, and you let them flow freely down your cheeks, you wished more than anything that you could just forget, that you could wake up tomorrow and none of this would have happened, but you couldn’t undo it.

“I don’t care if we’re broken” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice through the tears. “I just want you here… I just want us back, Matt”

His silence felt like an eternity, and then, finally, he spoke again.

“You know” he said quietly, “If I could wake up tomorrow and everything was the way it used to be, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much” His words were soft but full of meaning. “I don’t care how things have changed. I just… I want to fix it”

You wanted to say something back, to ask if he’d be willing to try again, to tell him how much you missed him, but the words caught in your throat, you were scared he didn’t feel the same way, that he didn’t want you back as much as you did.

Instead, you let the silence stretch again, this time more comfortable than before, as if the connection between you two had shifted, just a little, and maybe that was enough… for now.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Part 2?

[pillowfriendly]

if this isn't overstepping, do you have any advice for staying hopeful and not being a defeatist?

man why are you asking me. Okay well I do have an answer and it's

FUCK HOPE #FUCKHOPE

hope is an individual thing and you can have it or not. I don't think it matters. Work is what matters.

(putting a cut cause I yapped too much)

What I mean by work is political/labor organizing, mutual aid, direct action, that sort of thing. Only material action will make a material difference, so whatever gets you to do that is what you need. That can be hope, but shit looks bad right now so as a consistent motivator.... it's iffy.

I don't know what would get you out the door, so I'll tell you what works for me and you'll see what I mean. I do a good bit of mutual aid work right. I don't think the problem of homelessness will be solved in my lifetime. It'll probably get worse. But I see people on the street with no place to stay and no food to eat, and I know it is a problem that could be solved. That everyone could have a warm bed and meals every day, and the only reason they don't is cause some people are so goddamn greedy they would rather accumulate money and resources beyond what they could use in a thousand lifetimes.

And I fucking hate that. I hate it. It makes me so fucking mad, so indignant that some people have nothing, that I want to do something about it. I'm a chef, so I distribute free meals because FUCK these people hoarding everything. They could fix it but they won't, so I'll fucking do it then. People need to eat.

And the spite that makes me want to do something, and this is so cornball that saying it makes me wanna die but whatever it's true, but by just going out and doing this stuff, gets me love as a motivator too. I love the other people who come out every week with me to grocery shop and prep and package and distribute meals. I see and talk to the people who take them and I love them too. I want to do it for them.

Is that hope? Not really. But it keeps me from being defeatist because I can see that we're making a difference. A little one; we're not changing the world or anything. But lots of people didn't go hungry for a day cause of us.

So that's how I know it's not just a hope that we can change things for the better. It's the real, material outcome of people working together to do something. Cause and effect. Nothing is destined and anything can change--if action is taken to change it.

take this as you will. I'm mostly on tumblr dot com for memes and blorboposting; my politics are mostly an offline thing for me but... Remember the only thing that beats fascism back, long-term, is communism. And communism isn't some magical thing that's gonna come save us, it's a state made of a set of conditions that we can bring about. And each of these conditions makes the world better even on its own! Unionization and increased worker control of labor is good! Socialized healthcare is good! Food and housing available to all is good! Do something to further any of these, even incrementally, so you can see the change you made and know that you made it. I bet you'll wanna do it again.

So yeah, fuck hope. The world sucks anon. What are you gonna do about it?

[dee-writes-anime]

I JUST SAW A TIK TOK WITH SOMEONE WHO HAS A CHES HITE CAT QUIRK OMGGGG

Im so sorry…. I woulda wrote all that but im fucken lazyyy….. but imagine readers quirk as this⁉️

(If you want) can you do cheshire cat quirk user!reader x denki?! Holy ga-moli HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

(Or if u want) you choose the characters:3 i love all i cant have a favourite (denki and mr compress okay ‘hear me out’ no listen to me with denki and mr conpress!!)

Hehehehe

MAMAS OUT

Pls drink, eat, sleep :3

-Monty

Master of the Art of Illusion

FEATURING Denki Kaminari x Reader, Mr. Compress x Reader (individual)

SUMMARY Meeting Denki and Mr. Compress for the first time with a "Cheshire Cat" quirk ;)

CONTENT WARNINGS First meeting fluff! Flirting, jumpscares, and of course some theatrics!

AUTHORS NOTE @montybooks GIRL THIS IDEA SLAYS THE HOUSE DOWN BOOTS!!!! Here are some short 'first meeting' fics for BOTH Compress and Kaminari <3

⚡ Kaminari Denki

It was a quiet night in the dorms. Most of Class 1-A had gone to bed early after a grueling day of training, but Denki Kaminari wasn’t one of them. He sat sprawled out on the common room couch, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling through memes. His tired eyes blinked at his screen while the distant hum of the dorm lights buzzed softly overhead.

A sudden flicker caught his attention.

The lights dipped for a moment, buzzing louder before returning to normal. Denki frowned and glanced up at the ceiling. "Huh… weird." He shrugged and went back to his phone, figuring it was probably nothing.

But the second time the lights flickered, a strange chill ran down his spine.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A floating smile. Sharp, glowing white teeth hovering in the darkness at the far end of the room, curled into a mischievous grin.

Denki froze. His breath caught in his throat.

"H-Hello?"

No answer.

His eyes darted to the empty hall behind the smile, and suddenly it disappeared—gone without a trace. The room fell eerily silent.

"Okay… nope. Nope, I’m not doing this." Denki got to his feet, heart pounding. "This isn’t a horror movie. I’m not about to get haunted tonight. Not today, Satan!"

He had just taken a step toward the exit when two glowing eyes materialized in front of him, hovering in midair.

"Leaving so soon?" a voice purred, playful and smooth.

Denki screamed. Like, full-on, top-of-his-lungs scream. He tripped over his own feet and fell backward onto the floor, scrambling to put some distance between him and whatever supernatural thing was taunting him.

"OH MY GOD—IT’S A GHOST! I’M GONNA DIE IN THE DORMS!"

The eyes blinked, amused, and then you fully materialized, laughing so hard you had to lean against the wall to steady yourself.

"Holy crap," you wheezed between fits of laughter. "You actually thought you were haunted!"

Denki’s heart was still racing as he stared at you, wide-eyed. You stood there in front of him—glowing cat-like eyes, a sharp grin, and an aura that practically radiated mischief. Your body flickered slightly, fading in and out of visibility like a mirage.

"You’re—" He blinked, still trying to catch his breath. "You’re not a ghost?"

You grinned wider. "Nah. Just a really cool quirk. You must be new if you haven’t seen me around. I’m Y/N."

Denki got to his feet slowly, brushing himself off. "Kaminari Denki," he said, eyeing you warily. "And you… scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry, sorry!" you said, holding your hands up, though you didn’t look all that sorry. "I couldn’t resist. Your face was priceless."

Denki huffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, well, I almost died from a heart attack, so there’s that."

You tilted your head, your glowing eyes narrowing as a playful smirk tugged at your lips. "I do have that effect on people." You stepped closer, and Denki swore he felt his heart skip a beat.

"So… what’s your deal?" he asked, curiosity overtaking his lingering embarrassment. "Your quirk makes you disappear and reappear? And your eyes and smile glow?"

"Pretty much. Think Cheshire Cat, but cooler," you said, crossing your arms. "I can turn invisible, project illusions, and mess with people’s heads. Basically, I’m every horror movie cliché rolled into one."

"That’s so awesome!" Denki’s eyes lit up, his earlier panic forgotten. "Seriously, we’ve got to spar sometime. I wanna see what else you can do."

"Careful what you wish for," you teased, your body flickering out of existence for a split second before you reappeared behind him. "I’m pretty sneaky."

Denki spun around, eyes wide. "Okay, that’s freaky—but also so cool. Seriously, you’re like a video game boss!"

You laughed, resting your hands on your hips. "And you’re like a little lightning gremlin."

"Pikachu," Denki corrected with a grin. "Gotta stay on brand."

You smirked. "Alright, Pikachu. Maybe we’ll spar sometime—if you can keep up."

He raised an eyebrow, sparks crackling at his fingertips. "Oh, I can keep up. Don’t underestimate me, Cheshire."

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, eyes locked, tension crackling between you. Denki’s grin softened, his gaze lingering a little longer than he intended.

"Hey," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’m glad you scared the crap out of me. Best first impression ever."

You chuckled, your glowing eyes flickering playfully. "Same, Pikachu. Best haunted dorm night ever."

🥸 Mr. Compress

The warehouse was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the city just beyond its walls. Pale light filtered in through cracked windows, casting long shadows across the dusty floor. You crouched on one of the rafters above, watching the group below with narrowed eyes. The League of Villains—infamous, unpredictable, and exactly the kind of chaos you found oh so entertaining.

But you weren’t here for all of them.

Your eyes locked on him. Mr. Compress. He stood apart from the others, his polished mask glinting in the faint light, his posture relaxed yet calculated. Every move he made was precise, deliberate, like an actor waiting for his cue. He didn’t even notice you. Not yet.

You grinned to yourself and leaned forward just enough for your voice to carry through the stillness.

"Nice mask. Is that supposed to make you more mysterious or just hide how pretty you are?"

The entire League froze, heads snapping upward. You let yourself flicker into partial visibility, just enough for them to catch a glimpse of your glowing eyes and wide, toothy grin before disappearing again.

"Show-off," Dabi muttered, already bored.

"Who’s there?" Shigaraki growled, scratching at his neck.

Toga clapped her hands. "Ooh, spooky! I like them already!"

But Mr. Compress remained perfectly calm. Slowly, he removed his mask and looked up, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness above.

"Now that," he said, his voice smooth and confident, "is an entrance worthy of applause." He gave a slow clap, the sound echoing through the warehouse. "Though I must admit, sneaking around in the rafters is rather… theatrical, even for me."

"Why, thank you," you said, reappearing just a few feet behind him, your voice dripping with amusement. "Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment."

He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he turned to face you, his eyes gleaming with curiosity and something else—something darker, something far more interesting.

"And who might you be, my elusive friend?"

"Cheshire," you replied, crossing your arms. "I hear you’re the one to talk to when it comes to creative pursuits."

His lips curved into a knowing smile. "Ah, a fellow artist. How delightful."

"I wouldn’t call it art," you said with a sly grin, your body flickering out and then reappearing beside him. "More like... games. Tricks. I like to keep people guessing."

"Then we’re kindred spirits," Mr. Compress said, clearly intrigued. "I’ve always had a weakness for a good trick."

You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing slightly. "Weakness? I doubt you have many of those."

"Ah, but even the best performers have their limits," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The trick is making sure no one ever sees them."

You studied him for a moment, your grin softening into something more genuine. He was good. Too good, really—someone who thrived on control and misdirection, just like you.

"Well," you said, stepping back, "maybe we’ll put that to the test one day. See who can outmaneuver the other."

"I’d like that," he said, his gaze never leaving yours. "But tell me, Cheshire—what brings you to our humble hideout?"

You shrugged, your grin returning full force. "Boredom. Curiosity. Maybe a little bit of both. I heard you’re always looking for new talent, and I thought I’d drop in."

"Talent is always welcome," he said, offering a dramatic flourish of his hand. "Though I must warn you—once you join our little troupe, there’s no leaving the stage."

"Good," you said, your voice low and dangerous. "I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon."

[sleekervae]

Solo Mode [6] jackson wang x fem!oc

Masterlist

Pairing: jackson wang/fem!oc

Summary: heather does her research

Warnings: strong language

Word Count: 1.4k

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The only sound was her keyboard, clacking with surgical precision as she punched through the final pieces of code. Debugging had become personal—each error message like an insult she refused to let stand. The light from her monitors cast long shadows across her cluttered desk, empty coffee mugs marking the hours she hadn’t slept.

She clicked “send” on the last batch of source files, attaching her original documentation and commit history. All of it was bundled for Henry, who would tear through it with his lawyerly precision and present it to the board. Proof that every line of code had her name on it first. That no one—least of all some rich-boy developer with a fancy title and a fragile ego—could take credit for her work.

Her breath caught as the email whooshed into cyberspace. Done. It should’ve felt like relief. Instead, she sat back in her chair and stared at nothing.

Last night was a mistake.

She told herself that again, even as her lips still tingled. Even as she remembered the heat of his mouth on her skin, the gravel in his voice when he said her name. Even now, hours later, his scent clung faintly to her shirt like a secret.

She yanked the fabric over her head and shoved it into the laundry basket.

Her phone buzzed. Not Jackson. Just her sister, Jessica, texting a meme like nothing had happened. She didn’t answer.

God, she needed a shower.

Next door, Jackson had half a guitar in his hands and zero attention span. Choi was mid-rant about tempo mapping on their latest track, and Jason was fine-tuning the EQ mix on a beat they’d been stuck on for days. Jackson was supposed to be reviewing vocal takes, offering insight, doing something vaguely useful.

Instead, he’d replayed the night before about twelve times in his head. Not the sex—okay, also the sex—but mostly the way Heather had looked at him right before she kissed him. Like she hated it. Like she hated him. But she kissed him anyway.

That was a first.

“Dude,” Choi snapped his fingers. “You in there?”

Jackson looked up. “Yeah. I’m just—sorry. Not sleeping great.”

Jason raised a brow. “You never sleep great.”

Choi narrowed his eyes. “You sick or something? You look—feral.”

Jackson scoffed, raking a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”

“Like… weirdly calm-feral,” Choi added. “Creepy calm. Like you buried a synth line in the backyard and haven’t told us yet.”

Jackson grinned. “Just vibing.”

“Stop vibing and tell me if we’re keeping that scratch chorus for the second drop or reworking it.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waved them off. “It’s fine. Keep it.”

Jason gave him a long look, then leaned over and muted the playback. “Okay, what’s up? You haven’t said a word about this mix. That’s a record.”

Jackson leaned back in his chair and spun slowly, eyes unfocused, wondering what Heather would look like in his shirt—more importantly, wondering why he was thinking about it at all.

Heather sat cross-legged on her living room floor, laptop balanced precariously on a stack of dog-eared tech manuals and unopened mail. Her fingers flew across the keys as she encrypted the last set of files for Henry, each line of code a calculated act of defense. She wasn’t going down over some second-rate copycat trying to drag her name through the mud.

This was reputation insurance. Clean, timestamped, unimpeachable.

A progress bar crawled across the screen.

She leaned back, stretched her arms overhead—and froze.

Music.

A bass riff bled through the shared wall to her right, low and half-formed, like someone searching for the right chord but never quite landing. Then a pause. Then a flourish of piano keys, followed by someone swearing under their breath.

Heather blinked. Sat still.

The walls in this place were thin, but not that thin. She had heard a multitude of different things since she moved in: kids running up and down the halls, vacuums going off early morning, couples fighting -- or fucking, even -- and she'd become well accustomed to Jackson's late night parties...

Her pulse stuttered.

Jackson.

Of course it was him. It had to be. Who else would be running scales and synths like they were trying to chase a ghost?

She got up, walked slowly toward the source like it might vanish if she moved too fast. At the far end of her kitchen, just past the coat rack and that weird crack in the drywall she kept meaning to report, she pressed her palm to the wall.

The music was louder here. Structured chaos. Emotional. Frustratingly good.

And then—Jackson’s voice. Half-singing, half-muttering lyrics under his breath. She couldn’t make out the words, but something about the tone caught her off guard.

It was earnest. Raw, even.

Heather dropped her hand, blinking hard.

She told herself to sit back down. Finish her work. Pretend last night never happened. Pretend he wasn’t in the next room bleeding into hers without even knowing it.

Instead, she stood there longer than she should have, listening.

And, despite herself, smiling.

Despite her better judgment—and there was definitely judgment—Heather found herself back at her laptop, typing in his name.

Jackson Wang.

It was absurd how fast the results populated. A flood of curated interviews, dramatic stage photos, overproduced music videos, and clips of him performing to screaming crowds. There were thumbnails of his face everywhere: sharp jaw, eyeliner, drenched in sweat, or bathed in spotlight like some mythic pop prince.

GOT7, his earlier group, came up first. She clicked through a few music videos and tried not to cringe. All synchronized dancing and soft-focus smiles, with lyrics she couldn’t understand and titles like Just Right and If You Do. It was polished, bubblegum, and so very not her thing.

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.

“Fucking k-pop,” she muttered.

Still, she didn’t stop watching.

Somewhere between the second and third video, she caught herself leaning closer.

And then—Magic Man.

That’s when things changed.

The aesthetic hit different. Bolder. Sleek. Heavy on the black and red, with smoke and slow-motion and leather. His voice had bite now—lower, rougher. The music throbbed with energy. Theatrical still, sure, but suddenly it felt intentional. Artful. Kind of haunting, if she was being honest.

She scrolled further, clicking through the Cruel video, then Blow. His performance style was… intense. A little unhinged. Wet hair, crazy white eyes, strobe lighting. It shouldn’t have worked. It did.

God help her—it did.

Heather squinted at the screen, chewing her lip. “Holy fuck.”

She hated that she meant it.

Because now she wasn’t just thinking about last night—about his hands, his mouth, the rough scrape of stubble on her skin, the low sound he made when she swore at him—she was staring at a whole different version of him, broadcast in 4K, lit by stage lights instead of kitchen fluorescents. And it was messing with her head.

The man she’d argued with about noise violations was on her screen, strutting shirtless through a hellscape of flashing lights and demonized dancers. On stage, he was fire and swagger, dragging a mic stand like it had wronged him. There was precision in every movement, raw voltage behind every lyric. He looked like sin incarnate in leather and chains, like someone you didn’t get to touch unless you earned it.

But she had. For one night, she’d had all of that. And she was starting to realize she hadn’t fully understood what, or who, she’d fallen into bed with.

It was throwing her off.

The Jackson she knew was cocky, obnoxious, weirdly charming when he wanted to be—and very much real. He drank too much, his sweats were too baggy, and gave her that smug little smile like he could see every filthy thought in her head.

But this? This was calculated chaos. It was artistry and danger, all poured into three-minute music videos with visuals that would give most people an identity crisis. And somehow, it made her want him more.

Heather dragged a hand through her hair and sat back from the screen, like distance might help. It didn’t.

Because her body still remembered the way he felt—how he’d kissed like it was a challenge, how his voice dropped when he found her nip piercings and how she let him play with them. She could still feel the ghost of his breath against her ear, his fingers hooked between her legs.

She hated that she wanted it again.

That thought alone made her shut the laptop. Not gently.

She sat there, glaring at the closed screen like it had betrayed her. Like it had exposed something she hadn’t agreed to examine.

God. What the hell was she doing?